My Son
by DCKidWing13
Summary: Sequel to Why I'm Still Here in NW section. Bruce talks with Dick about his suicidal intentions and Dick's own life is greatly on the line if Bruce can't stop him. Just to warn you, Batman doesn't ALWAYS succeed... [Story 2 in the My Son series. Prequel to Flashing Back & Back.] Rated due to a small amount of graphic self-violence and some language. Formerly in the NW section.
1. Chapter 1

I do not own anything. If I did, there would be quite a few changes in the DC world.

This is the sequel to _Why I'm Still Here _in the Nightwing section. If you haven't read it yet, please do so.

My Son

He just couldn't understand it. He's tried to figure out why, but he's just not sure. Was it his fault? No. Wait, was it? Maybe it was something he said or did that he hadn't noticed. But he's gone too long without an answer and it was about time he got one.

_Knock, knock, knock. _This is it, no turning back now. After a few seconds there was a voice.

"Who is it?" The voice called out.

"Umm...it's, uh, Bruce." Um? Uh? He hadn't known those words were even in his vocabulary. It was just then that he noticed how hard he was breathing and he swallowed hard. Nervous? How could he possibly be nervous? Night after night, he fought the most dangerous criminals in Gotham-some not even the cops could hold their own against-and here he was outside his "son's" door, desperately trying to cover up how worried he looked and sounded.

"Bruce?" It was said in a shocked and bit disturbed tone. That only made him worry more. Did he not want to see him? Maybe he did do something to cause this. No. There must be more to this. A lot more.

"Uh, yeah." Seriously, what was with all the "uhs"?

"Oh." Now it was said in a kind of surprised way. That made Bruce relax just a little. Maybe he wasn't so bothered in seeing him. There was series of clinking sounds as the door was unlocked and finally opened.

"Hey." The voice now had a face and a naked body. Well, except for the black jeans. Really, really tight jeans. Looking at them made Bruce mentally wince. How does he do it? How does he manage to wear tight as hell clothing both with and without the mask?

"Uh, hi Dick." Damnit, he really needs to stop that.

There was a few moments of silence. The younger man just stared at the man who used to be his mentor, waiting. Silence. Finally, Bruce realized that he was waiting for him to him why he was here.

"Uh…"

"You want something to drink?"

"Uh, no, no. I'm fine." It was pointless to even try to stop now.

"Okay."

Bruce swallowed hard and took in a huge breath. "I, uh, came here to, uh, talk to you about something that I, uh…believe is about time to address." He took another deep breath, not as big as before, but still pretty noticeable. And Dick was just staring at him. No, not staring. Observing. Scanning for every last detail. Deciphering. After all, he _was_ the world's second-greatest detective. And Bruce, being the greatest, saw it and instantly tried to covered up his nervousness. To some degree he absolutely succeeded. In fact, if this was just anyone he was dealing with, they would have thought that he was being totally cool with everything. But this wasn't just anyone. No, this was the man that he had trained for ten years. He knew something was going on.

"What, did something happen in Gotham?" Bruce just shook his head.

"Here in Bludhaven?"

" No. Well, not…exactly." Bruce noticed Dick begin to worry a little.

"So then, what's this about exactly?" Dick sat down on the couch and Bruce sat to an angle of him in a chair. Bruce sighed. Dick knew this wasn't good.

"I've, uh…been noticing some things."

"Oh, really? What kinds of things." Dick was now breathing and swallowing hard, too.

"Oh, um. A few things that seem a bit different…about you, actually." Bruce was mainly just worried that he might say the wrong thing or Dick might get the wrong impression. That's been tending to happen a lot lately. He was also worried that instead of trying to help, he would only make things worse. Or that Dick would resent him or… All in all, Bruce was worried about a lot of things that could happen.

"Really? Like what?" It had been two days since Bruce had caught him talking to himself-arguing more like it- on top of a rooftop while on patrol. He had been quiet for a while, just standing there, not paying much attention. Then, out of nowhere, he calls out something like "No!" and some other bazaar stuff. Bruce had come up with a pretty fair idea of what the other side of the conversation was about. He thought that maybe he could just ignore it but, damnit, it just couldn't be left alone. He's already wanted longer than he had liked to. He figured that if he let it be and kept a close eye on him, the matter would have dissolved. But it didn't. So now Bruce had to take matters into his own hands.

"Oh, um. Hm. Well, uh, for starters, you've kinda been a little stranger than usual."

"strange? How so?" Dick was playing it off well, but no dice. This was Bruce he was dealing here.

"I mean, it's not like you're usually strange, it's just you…haven't really been yourself lately, Dick. You've been preoccupied-had mind set somewhere else. And you've been reckless and moody. Well, I mean, you're always reckless, but I mean even more so. And you're never moody."

"I, ah, see. Hmm."

"Yeah, and, uh, you haven't really been answering your phone either." Bruce pointed out. Dick glanced at the phone to his left. When has that rung in a while? He didn't recall anyone calling. Did someone call?

"This concerns me, Dick. You've been zoning-out and completely unaware and non-attentive in battle. And just downright foolish!" Dick shot Bruce a glance.

"What do you mean _in battle_?"

"Dick…"

"You _have_ been following me around, haven't you?"

"I…"

"I knew it! I knew I felt you there. I thought maybe I was just imagining it, but I wasn't. You were there all along."

"Just…"

"Why the hell were you following me around, Bruce? What, did Gotham run out of criminals so the Bat decided to see how I'm taking care of my city?"

"No, I…"

"You what, Bruce?"

"I just needed to make sure you were okay."

"What makes you think I wouldn't be okay?"

"I think you know what." Dick swallowed hard and Bruce sighed.

"What do you know?" Dick asked after a few moments of silence.

"I know you've been cutting yourself again. And I know that you've tried "it" at least once."

"What drew your suspicion? I mean, I know you said I've been acting weird, but something must have caused you to notice so much to stalk me."

"That…incident that, uh, happened 7 weeks ago…"

"You know about what happened? How?"

"I was there. I was the one who called the hospital in enough time to revive you. I had thought about talking to you about it sooner, but you just seemed so agitated and stressed by everything. I didn't want to make it any worse. So I figured that if I gave you some space and time to sort your own problems out before I talked to you, it would eventually just thin out. And I wanted to keep an eye on you…"

"In case I tried anything again." Bruce gave what had to be the world's smallest nod. After a few minutes of letting Dick it all in, they both sighed in unison and looked at each other.

"Dick. I just need to know…"

"I'm not telling you why, Bruce."

"Why not?"

"I can't. I…it's…it's nothing you need to be bothered with."

"Bothered with? Dick, the only thing that bothers me is knowing that you are hurting yourself again and there's not really much I can do about it to help you because you don't trust me enough to talk to me."

"You don't have to do anything, Bruce. I've…gotten this under control."

"Under control? Tell me exactly how cutting and doing god knows what else to yourself, is keeping your impulse for death under control."

"Bruce…"

"This is _not_ under control. Having the situation under control would be actually talking to someone-anyone really. Has it even occurred to you that if you really had it under control, you might be checking with a psychiatrist? I mean, do you even _want_ to get better?"

"I…" Dick looked away as his eyes began to sting a bit.

"Do you?" Dick said nothing and just continued to look down at the floor for several long minutes. Dick now had his knees up and his arms wrapped around them as he hugged himself tightly and tried so hard not to cry in front of Bruce. It wasn't until he felt a strong, but surprisingly gentle hand touch his arm that Dick noticed that Bruce had found his way onto the couch and was now sitting to the right of him.

"Dick, please. Answer me. Do you want to get better?"

"Well, yes." Dick answered in a small, weak voice that Bruce probably wouldn't be able to understand if he hadn't had special bat-training. "But I've been trying so long, I don't know if I can or ever will. And, to be honest, Bruce, I don't really know if I even care anymore." A single crept down the side of his soft, gentle face.

"Hey. Hey. Look at me. Don't cry, alright? Look, it's…I, I know it can get better. And if you would only confide in someone I'm sure it would."

"I, I can't, Bruce."

"Why not?"

"I…you, you wouldn't understand."

"Oh?" Dick looked down, but the only thing he could see was Bruce's broad chest. He turned away from Bruce and got up, arms still clung to each other.

"I, um, am kinda tired now, Bruce."

"You can sleep all you want, but I'm not leaving you alone, Dick." He began to protest but saw that it would be pointless and he really wasn't in the mood right now.

"Alright." He walked off to his bedroom for an afternoon nap.

"Yes. Sleep, my son. And I shall protect you until you awaken." Bruce whispered into the empty room.

**To Be Continued**


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Three hours later, a drowsy Dick Grayson emerged and headed for the bathroom. He hadn't really been tired when he made that excuse to Bruce. But after half an hour of thinking and unwanted tears, he decided to sleep anyway just to buy him some time. It wasn't a good sleep, but he's had worse. There were a few times when he would, not completely intentionally, wake himself up. During those times, he carefully snuck out of his room and peeked around to see if Bruce was still here. And to Dick's surprise, he was. He would then turn around, careful not to make a sound, and crawl back into bed, secretly feeling safe enough to sleep until he awoke again.

In the bathroom, Dick turned on the faucet to the tub and put it into shower mode. He let the water heat up as he slowly stripped out of the annoyingly too skinny black jeans. How the hell had he managed to sleep in those things? Being unconscious as Nightwing or just too exhausted after patrol to take his costume off must have as some pretty good practice. He entered the shower and instantly started to think a bit more clearly. The soothing warm water felt good as he stood there just soaking, taking it all in. As he showered he tried to strategize and formulate a plan for the situation he was currently in. But after a while, he found it depressing to think about any future conversations he might have with Bruce, and decided to just enjoy the shower for now.

It had been three hours and Bruce was growing frantic. _Why is it that I am getting so worked up about this? _Bruce got off the couch and started pacing for the hundredth time that evening. _Well maybe because your son is a suicidal wreck who refuses to talk to you and could he doing anything to himself right now. _He started pacing even faster. It was more like a psychological thing that he had, without thought, just picked up from Dick after watching him do it for so many years whenever he was nervous or in an uncomfortable situation and was trying to calm down. _What am I saying? He's sleep. I just checked four minutes ago._

When Dick left for his room, a thousand and one thoughts had entered Bruce's mind that he just didn't have the time, patience, or want to deal with them all at once. Bruce was reluctant to let it show, but he was pretty close to a break down while he was talking to Dick. He was just lucking chose the right moments to shake. Bruce had waited 45 minutes of head throbbing strategization until something kicked him in his gut and told him to check up on Dick. He was asleep. Since then, Bruce had been checking regularly every seven to twelve minutes. He tried to stop and just let the boy rest in peace, but even he couldn't control his demanding side. Wait a minute, boy? _Am I ever going to let him grow up?_

A couple of times, Bruce could have sworn he felt Dick get out of bed and…do what? Search for him? _He has grown up. He's an adult now. But that doesn't mean I still can't be protective of him._ No, he couldn't possibly have felt Dick's eyes on him for a few seconds every now and then before disappearing. But whenever he did get that feeling, he would immediately tiptoe down to Dick's room and make the most of he could from looking underneath the door. Just a fingertip or lock of hair was enough to tell Bruce that he was still in there. Then he would wait for the slightest of movement to let him know that his son was okay.

It was just then Bruce heard the shower start and lost all train of thought. _Alright, so Dick is awake now. He could come out any minute, wanting to talk with me. Damnit, Bruce, what have you been doing this whole time? I was supposed to be thinking about my responses to any conversations we might have. Since when am I this unprepared? I actually feel almost vulnerable. Hell, with Dick I _**am**_ vulnerable. I need to buy some time…_

Dick hadn't meant to be in the shower for so long. When he got out, it was already 7:42. _I can't believe I spent an entire hour and a half in the shower. I didn't even get that clean! _He thought as he checked the time on his cell phone. Years ago, Dick had learned that it is always a good thing to keep a phone when you go to the bathroom. Not as long ago, he learned that it is a _bad_ thing to keep a phone a little too close when you go to the bathroom.

Dick wrapped a towel around his waist and headed for his room, not thinking about closing the door behind him. With hair and chest still dripping wet, he pulled on another pair of black jeans. They weren't nearly as tight as the first ones, be still showed off all of his lower features. When Tim had once questioned him about them, he seemed like he had no idea how much cleavage the things showed. Dick didn't even bother with drying his hair off or putting on a shirt. It was _his_ place anyway.

He walked around his apartment wondering where Bruce was until he wandered into the kitchen.

"Oh. Uh…hey." He managed to get out around the shock.

"Oh, hi, Dick. Um-sleep well?" Bruce tried for a smile-he really, really did-but just couldn't pull one off.

"Yeah, I slept fine. What-what's all of this?"

"I just figured that you might be hungry when you woke up, so I went to a Chinese restaurant-because I know you like Chinese food a lot- and picked up some food. I wasn't exactly sure on what you liked, but…"

An hour and a half ago, Bruce had left out to buy some food at a nearby local restaurant. Unfortunately, it was shut down the previous night due to its sixth failed help inspection. _Bludhaven. I can't believe Dick eats at these places._ So Bruce had to travel all the way across town just to find a decent restaurant. But right when he was about to walk through the door, an ambulance showed up and it was closed for the night. Luckily Bruce remembered that there was a Chinese place he had passed on his way to Dick's apartment that was just barely inside Bludhaven. And Dick just so happened to like Chinese-a lot. So an hour later Bruce was on his way back, but there was a huge wreck and Bruce had to drive all the way back through the highway and find a different route. He didn't even know the city well enough to know not to get off exit 47 or else get trapped in a vicious circle that could even make him swear.

When he finally made it back to Dick's place, he was worried that Dick would be wondering where he was and might think that he really didn't care enough to actually stay. But much to Bruce's surprise, he was still in the shower. So he started to warm everything up and set it out on the table when he heard the shower stop.

"Wow, Bruce. This is really nice. You didn't have to do all this, though."

"I wanted to. I heated some of it up, but some might still be cold, if you're ready to eat."

"Why would it be cold? Have you been out for a while?"

"Yes, actually. An hour and a half. Which kind of surprises me. Not me being out so long-it would have been longer if I wasn't ignoring the speed limit the entire time. But I mean you. How long you spent in the shower. I left right after you got in and returned right before you got out, meaning you spent an entire 90 minutes in there. I suppose I probably shouldn't be that surprised you spent so much time in there, though. You know, seeing how when you were 15 you started this phase about taking really long showers that you grew out of after a few weeks. But you always took _extremely_ long showers whenever something was wrong-even as a kid. So, I guess that's just a thing with you and…and, I am…I'm rambling, aren't I?"

"Uh…yeah, kinda."

"Sorry."

"No. No, it's cool." An awkward moment passed between them.

"So, uh…are you ready to eat?" Just when he thought he had a clear vocabulary again.

"Oh, uh…sure."

"Good. I actually may have gotten too much food here."

"No, its fine, Bruce. Thank you."

The two sat down trying not to look at each other. For a moment, they were silent as they set food on their plates. Finally Bruce couldn't take the tension and decided to be the first to say something-there really is a first time for everything.

"So…are you alright?"

"I'm fine, Bruce." Dick knew this was going to happen eventually. The awkward conversation that he just wished didn't have to happen.

"Really? Well is there anything that you would like to maybe talk about?" Bruce's eye twitched a bit, but luckily, Dick was too busy helping his plate to an eggroll to notice.

"No." Bruce raised an eyebrow and scooped out some rice, not taking his eyes off Dick for a second. Dick just looked away.

"Dick, you know one way or another we are going to at some point talk about this. Better now, right?"

"There's nothing to talk about, really." Again with the eyebrow.

"I mean, we already kinda talked about some stuff. And no matter what you do, Bruce, I'm not going to tell you why or why I won't tell you. So, yeah, there is nothing for us to talk about." Dick was fidgeting a bit and Bruce just kept staring at him. No, the Bat just kept staring at him. There was silence for several minutes as Dick played around with his food like a little boy who got in trouble at school and was just waiting for the punishment.

"Okay. Just forget all of your self-pride for a second and answer me this honestly. Is there anything you _want_ to talk about?"

"I…I-I" It wasn't usual for Dick to be hesitant. He bit his bottom lip-something that had become a habit when he was 12-and looked down at his plate held no interest to him anymore.

"Is there?"

"Well, um. I…maybe."

"So then why don't you talk about it?"

"I, I just don't, Bruce."

"Dick, all I want to do is help you, but you're not making that easy in any way." He bit his lip harder this time.

"I don't mean to make this hard on you. I never wanted anyone else to have to be bothered by this."

"And that's just the problem! You've always been so selfless and worrying about other people first, which is a great quality to have. But even so, you still have to sometimes think about what's best for _yourself_, Dick. You've never wanted to be a bother to anyone about anything, but when it comes to things like this, there is no way anyone could consider helping you bothersome. Because that all we'd try to do is help you. That's why people have therapists and such. To talk to someone who can help them when they feel that no one else can."

"I…I…"

"Dick, you told me that you wanted to get better, but just wasn't sure if you could or even cared. I am telling you right now that you can get better and it starts with trusting someone-anyone enough to talk to them. But if you care or not depends on if you want a better life or not."

"I want a better life. I've always wanted one."

"Well, before you can see the light, you must first face the darkness."

"I don't know if I can, Bruce. I'm just not strong enough."

"You are one of the bravest, smartest, and just plain greatest people I've ever known."

"No, I'm really not…"

"Yes, you are. Stop doubting yourself all the time and believe in yourself every once and a while."

"Bruce, I…I'm sorry." A stream of tears suddenly rolled down his face and Dick began to softly sob. Damnit, crying was always the last thing he wanted to do in front of Bruce.

"It's not your fault, Dick." Bruce place a comforting hand on his adopted son's shoulder-something that had always been quite rare between them.

"Yes, it is. Everything's my fault."

"No, no. That's not true. Shh…shh. It's okay. Let it out." And for a minute or two, he did. By the time he had gained control, he found himself rocking back and forth on Bruce's shoulder as he held him. It reminded him of the times when he was younger and would have nightmares about his parents during his first few weeks at the manor. Usually t was Alfred, but on a few occasions, Bruce would be the one to come to Dick's side and bring him comfort to the best of his ability. And that was enough.

"I'm sorry." Dick said one last time before giving Bruce a tight squeeze and then freeing himself from his grip. Bruce gave him a few moments to recapture himself before saying anything.

"Dick…"

"It's getting kinda late. I should head out for patrol."

"Dick, I don't think you're in the position to-"

"I'm fine, Bruce. I just need to get ready for patrol and so do you. Look, if it'll clear your conscious, I guess you could come back after we're done, alright?"

"Alright." Dick hopped up and started getting ready for the night, food gone to complete waste. When he was fully costumed and about to climb out the window, Bruce stopped him with one last statement for the night.

"Just be careful and don't try anything dangerously stupid."

"Sure, Bruce. Just don't worry so much while I'm gone."

And with that, he was on his way.

*Chapter 3 coming Soon. I promise ;)*


	3. The Patrol

Chapter 3: The Patrol

Nightwing glided through the night sky effortlessly with a clouded mind. He had so much to think about. So much that he didn't _want_ to think about it. And he wasn't sure whether or not he was _trying_ to think about it. On one hand, it would prepare him for the future and give him a better handle on the situation, which he's been particularly bad at lately. On the other hand, thinking about this stuff only made him depressed and gave him bad thoughts. Nightwing sighed knowing Bruce was right. He was going to have to deal with this sooner or later, so why not now? There hadn't been that much crime out: a robbery, one or two gang fights, a break-in, and an amateur mugging, stuff he could have handled when he was 12. _Sure, the one night there isn't a lot of crime._

He landed on the roof of a tall building near the heart of the city and just gazed upon what he promised to protect. He knew there wouldn't be much action from this point of the night on and decided it was time to face his greatest threat. His own mind.

_Okay, let's get this over with, shall we?_

Bruce just sat there in the still, silent room where Dick had left him. He just sat there. Motionless, barely even breathing. He stared at the wall in silence. He wasn't really thinking, though he knew he should have been. Finally, he let out a painful sigh and closed his eyes, tighter and tighter before opening them again, and giving another sigh. _I shouldn't have let him go out on patrol. He's not in the position to take care of himself, let alone Bludhaven's criminals of the night._

Bruce looked down to the table of untouched food as the smell of spoiled Chinese was starting to take place. He cleared off the table and refrigerated a few things he thought Dick might want later. He just needed to do _something_. He had already cleaned up the apartment when Dick was sleeping and now had nothing to do to prevent him from thinking the thoughts that made him want to put Dick in a cage and keep him there forever so that he'd know that he was safe and always with him. _Come on, I can't do that _again_. I'm just lucky he doesn't know about the first time it happened._

Bruce sat down on the couch and thought about what he said to Dick only four hours ago. _"One way or another we are going to at some point talk about this. Better now, right?"_ One of these days, he should really consider learning to follow his own advice. _Might as well get this over with while I have the chance._

_Tim's a good kid. But I just can't help but feel kinda…what? Maybe jealous. But why would I be jealous of him? Come to think of it, I think I've kinda been jealous of Jason, too. But it doesn't make sense why. I've long since accepted Bruce taking on a new partner. I'm pretty sure he gave us all the same training. So why do I feel that he treats them differently, like their better. They probably are. I'm just some weird circus kid with no hope of ever having a normal life. Why should a spoiled rich guy like me? That's probably why he waited until I was no longer his ward to adopt me. And he just adopted Jason and Tim-two normal people-right off the spot. Wait, what am I thinking? It's absolutely nothing like that. Or is it?_

Nightwing stopped thinking for a moment because he was starting to get a serious headache. He scanned the streets below him and shot his grappling hook back into the sky and headed west onto another rooftop. Pause. Scan streets. Now you can think.

_Okay, so I guess I just realized a problem I've had with my little brothers I didn't know about. So I suppose I can start on my feelings about losing my job._ After about seven minutes, Dick straightened up and started heading north.

_Man. Bruce is right, I do need a therapist. Or did he say I needed a psychiatrist? With the problems I have, I probably need both. Someone to work with my mind, another with my feel-leen-ggsss. Maybe I should just consider the psychiatrist. I'd rather have someone poking around in my mind than in my heart._

_Part of this could have been avoided if only I'd been good at showing emotion. But would he even talk to me then? What about Alfred or Tim, or maybe Clark. Would he maybe talk to Roy or Wally? How about Babs, or perhaps even…_

Bruce went through the list of people Dick knew and would possibly trust. In the end, he could only narrow it down to two people: Alfred and Clark.

_Maybe one of them could help him. It doesn't even matter, just…anyone, really. But why won't he talk to me? Did I do something? Am I not a good enough father for Dick to trust with his problems? Is it just me or anyone in general? Damnit, why won't he explain himself to me? No matter how much I may understand him when no one else does, I will never understand __**all**__ of him. And I want to. More than anything else, I want to understand my son. But he just won't let me._

Bruce started pacing again. It didn't calm him down so much as make him think even more.

_How does he feel about Tim? He's said that he has no problem with me taking on another ward. But he sometimes has these looks at me when I'm with Tim. Almost like it's a look of…I don't know. Maybe there is some problem he has with Tim. But they seem to get along so well. I don't understand._

Bruce sighed and flopped down on the couch.

_Okay, I'll deal with that later. Now how does he probably feel about some other things?_

He glided off towards the east. It wouldn't be long before he would have to end patrol early. He landed, scanned, thought.

_Okay. I've gotten a good portion of this thought out. So, how do I feel about my friends? Let's start out with Roy, Wally, and Clark for now. Roy. He's my best friend and has been for years. I know he'll always be there for me when I need him, and I'll do the same. He's a good guy. Sure, he's been mislead a bit when we were younger, but he pulled out of it. And Lian. She's a great kid. God, when she grows up. Man. If anything happens to Roy, I'll have to be the one to take care her. I can't be an unstable wreck and expect to be a good godfather._

_Alright, now Wally. He's also been my best friend for years. He good and I trust him as much as I do Roy. And Linda's nice, too._

_Clark. He's always kinda been like an uncle to me. He's supportive and he listens. Whenever I have a problem, he's never too busy to help me right then and there. He's nice and friendly. A good part of me is reflected off of him. And I know he loves me, too._

_So, there. Three people I know will always be there for me and that I can trust. Now the rest of the crew…_

_Wow. Thinking about all the things that's happened to Dick-not even including the ones I don't know about-I realize that he must have a lot of problems. Not just emotionally, but mentally, too. But how will I get him to talk to someone about them?_

Just then, Bruce heard a quiet land near the window. He checked the time.

"It's already 1:39? Hmm…"

The window opened and a shadow entered the dark room.

"How was patrol?" Bruce asked as the figure began to strip.

"Pretty good. Slow. How 'bout you?"

"Hunh? Oh, uh, right. Um, good, I guess."

"What do you mean?"

"…I didn't really go on patrol." The lenses on Dick's mask got wide. Bruce never did understand how he could do that. Lenses shouldn't look forlorn, surprised, narrow, bewildered, or anything else. But somehow, Dick could make that happen. Not just in his mask, any mask.

Once, when Tim was younger, he believed there was something special about his mask. Every time he got the chance, he would sneak on Dick's mask and stare into a mirror trying to make it change shape. After failing so many times, he convinced Bruce to try and laughed at how hard he strained his face to make the lenses move. There were so many things that Dick could do that impressed Bruce and almost everyone.

"You…what?"

"I didn't go on patrol."

"You just…stayed here?" Dick asked removing his mask and pulling on shirt.

"Yes."

"Uh…Seriously?"

"Yes. Why? Is it so hard to believe?"

"Yes, actually." He folded his uniform (badly) and slipped on a third pair of jeans. These were blue and were the first non-skinny bottoms he'd worn all day.

"Really? Why's that?"

"I mean, it's just…wow. I never would have actually thought that you would miss a patrol. You know, being Gotham's all-time protector and all." This shocked Bruce. Did he really think he would rather be Batman than his father?

"Dick. How could you think that? I felt you needed me here when you returned, so I stayed and missed patrol."

"Really?"

"Yes. I'd rather miss patrol any day than make you feel like I don't care about you more." This made Dick smile and they were quiet for a moment.

"Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"You'll stay tonight, right? At least until I go to sleep?"

"Dick, I promise I will stay here all night and will be here when you wake up. I'll stay for as long as want me here, okay?"

"Thanks, Bruce."

"But there are a few more things we need to talk about."

"Yeah, I know. We can talk in morning though, I'm sort of tired."

"Okay."

~Told you I'd get the next chapter up soon. To Be Continued…~


	4. The Next Day

Chapter 4: The Next Day

The following morning, Dick had woken up bright and early at only 7:12. He always made sure to catch his worm. He walked out of his room and roamed around shirtless. He was really starting to like it. When he reached his living room, Dick was a bit…disturbed? worried? pleased? shocked? uncomfortable? happy? confused? annoyed? humored? uncertain…one of those. He couldn't believe what he was seeing. Why couldn't he, were his expectations that specified?

There, only a foot and a half away from him was Bruce sleeping on his couch.

"Hm." For a few minutes, Dick just stood there looking at his father who had passed out on his couch. There was sure to be a dent in that later on. He slowly and carefully inched his way over to the arm of the couch where Bruce's feet were.

"I'm sorry, Bruce," he whispered as he stared into pure nothingness. "I never meant for any of this to happen. When it started when I was a kid, I thought that that was the end. You took me to talk to someone and watched over me more. I thought that that had worked-I really did. I thought that I got the help I needed and that it was over. That I could go back to my life and forget that it ever happened. But I didn't forget. I tried to, I never talked about it and I tried so hard not to think about it and I thought that I was succeeding. But I wasn't. It just stayed with me day after day for so many years. I thought I could handle it on my own, but I just can't. It eats away at me until it consumes my mind, heart, soul, actions, and whatever else it can find to take over. God, Bruce I just have so many problems."

Dick dug his face into his palms and let out a sigh. He sat there deep in thought for a moment before going on. "You know, I'll never forget that time you actually saw me. God, I don't think you've ever scared me more than at that moment. First off, you caught me when I thought you had already left. That really freaked me out. Second, I don't think I've ever heard you yell that loud. I'm serious, your voice literally shook the room-which made me **really** freak out. In a flash you were just in my face, clutching my arms like it was your only life source, just yelling so loud, but I didn't catch what you were saying. I just stood there frightened as tears rolled down my face. But the one thing that probably scared me the most is when you walked in and said, "What are doing?" Because at that moment, I saw the knife in my hand and realized exactly _what_ I was doing. And I was truly afraid. Afraid of myself. My mind, what I was truly capable of and how far I might go on a bad day. And knowing that truthfully scared me more than when I had first met Joker.

"I'm sorry, Bruce. You don't deserve to have to deal with all of this just because I have too many problems to just ignore any longer. I know I need help. And in a way, I'm practically desperate for it. God, I've been pretty much screaming for it these past few weeks. But there are a lot of reasons of why I just can't talk to anyone."

Pause. He looked around the room, blinked, shook his head, sighed and went on. "I don't know what's wrong with me, Bruce." A tear slithered down the cheek facing Bruce.

"Nothing is wrong with you, Dick." Dick hopped up and walked a few feet back.

"You-you're awake. Um, exactly h-how much of that did you, um, hear?"

"Does it matter?" Bruce sat up and removed the thin sheet and fluff pillow from his body.

"Uh…kinda."

"…All of it. I woke up when you came in the room."

"Oh." Dick gave a long, deep sigh.

"Dick, you _can_ talk to me. You do know that, right?"

"Yeah, I know," Another sigh. "It's just…I don't know."

"Is there anything else you might like to talk about?"

"I…"

"Would you talk to me if I were asleep?"

"I don't know if I can really trust you to _actually_ do just that."

"Do you trust me at all?"

"Well, yeah, I trust you with some things."

"I mean not on the field, though."

"Oh, uh, yeah. Sure." Silence.

"You don't trust me very much, do you?"

"I trust you with some things."

"So what things do you feel you can and cannot trust me with?"

"I…_Bruce_…"

"It's okay, tell me."

"I…well…sometimes, I don't really know if I can trust you to be there when I need you." He walked over and sat on the couch with a respectable distance from Bruce.

"What, what do you mean, exactly?"

"I mean that you're there when I don't want you to be, but hardly ever there when I really, _really_ need you. You know, when I was a kid, I use to think that you'd always be there when I didn't want you to, so you would be there even more when I did. But by the time I was about thirteen or so, I realize how completely inaccurate that theory was. At first it started with, like, school stuff and such. Like the dumb school plays or unnecessary conferences. I mean, sure they _were_ completely pointless, but that wasn't the idea for me. I didn't want to be there either but, I just wanted you there as support or to just see how I'm doing. To just know that you care enough to sit through the ridiculous nonsense and just be there to make me feel better about it. Like how I always did at those stupid, _boring_ social meetings you always have.

"And as I grew older, I started to not be able to count on you for nearly as much as I'd like. That's why I needed to grow up so much. So that I wouldn't need to depend on you for anything when you didn't come through."

"I didn't know you felt that way."

"Yeah…"

"Dick…I just…I know I should have been there more. When you got older, you started to resent some things, so I thought you just needed some space and distance like most teenagers. And those school things, I just thought that it didn't matter to you. You never asked me to come unless it was absolutely urgent, and when I asked you if you wanted me to come, you always just said that you didn't really care and that it didn't matter, so I didn't go. I didn't know it was actually important to you. If I had, I most certainly would have been there."

"If you weren't busy that is…"

"What do you mean?"

"You're always busy too busy with _something_ to have time for anything else."

"Well, I have a lot of responsibilities and things that need to get done."

"Yeah, Bruce, I know, alright? I know you're a busy guy. Just…forget it."

"No, Dick. I want to hear what you have to say."

"It doesn't matter."

"To you it does. And if so, then in a way, it matters to me also."

"I…it's just, and I'm not trying to sound like a spoiled, needy brat or anything, but, I mean, you're an organized guy. _Very_ organized. You're precise, detailed, sure, you always have a plan. A schedule, an idea to go with everything, you're prepared for anything. Just…why weren't you prepared for me? It was always either Mr. Wayne or The Bat. Hardly ever just Bruce. And that's who I needed sometimes. Not the famous billionaire playboy, not the business man, and sure as hell not the fridgin' Batman. I just needed a friend, a dad. Someone who could find time in his annoyingly chaotic schedule just for me because I was that much more important to you.

"The reason why I never asked you to come is because I didn't want to bother you. When I was a kid, I mean still new to the manor and stuff, I remember asking you to do things. I never liked asking you stuff, but when I was little, I would get lonely and, I guess, a little scared being by myself in an entirely new world. So I would ask you if you could take me to the park or just talk to me for a while. And every time, it was "I'm busy, Dick" or "Not right now" or "Ask Alfred." But I didn't want Alfred. I mean, he's great and was always good to me. But sometimes I just needed the person who took me in to be my dad instead of his butler all the time. I guess I just needed to know what was more important to you."

"Dic-"

"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to trouble you with this. I-just forget."

"Dick, you're not troubling me with anything. I'm the one who should be sorry. I never meant to make you feel that you weren't more important to me than the job."

"_Both_ jobs?"

"Of course. How could you even think not?"

"Because you're just so damn committed to being the fridgin' Bat all the time! Everything you do has to be thought out to the last possible thing that could happen and you have to be prepared for it. Nobody can have a decent conversation with you unless it has something to do with Gotham or criminals or sort of fridgin' crisis. And…and…Never mind." He realized that he was yelling and decided to just drop it. It wasn't worth his breath. Surely The Batman would never understand this. He got up and leaned against a wall across from Bruce.

"You know I have-"

"Don't even say that you have 'responsibilities', Bruce."

"But I do, Dick. And you know that."

"Whatever, just drop it. You don't understand so forget it, okay?"

"No, Dick. I do want to understand this, so explain it to me."

"It's alright. Um, wasn't there something else you asked me?"

"I've asked you a lot of things you've refused to answer."

"You asked me what I do trust you about."

"You're trying to change the subject."

"Yeah, I am. But I really do trust you with some things, Bruce."

"Di-"

"Like, um…I trust you…hmm…Like to…protect me?"

"I thought you just said you couldn't trust me to be there for you."

"No, I mean protect me if I'm in trouble."

"You just said tha-"

"No, it's different. Like if I was hanging out with a bad crowd, I could trust you to put some sense back into me. When I said I couldn't count on you being there, I meant if I had some stuff going on or needed to talk to someone or needed advice or direction or something. But now I mean that I can trust you to save me."

"I thought we were talking about _outside_ the masks."

"We are, we are. I just mean…" He sighed and sat back next to Bruce, but a little closer this time. Not too close, but close enough to feel him there.

"Dick, you're starting to confuse me."

"Okay. Before I meant with like personal stuff. I couldn't really count on you for emotional support. What I'm saying now is that I _can_ trust you for help. Like if I needed some place to stay, I know you'd let me stay at the manor. Or if I started doing drugs or thievery or something, I know you would be the first to try to talk me out of it. To put it short, Bruce, I guess I can't really trust you to be much of a dad to me, but I know I can count on you to be my father." And it really was too bad Dick was looking down at that moment because he missed the sight flick that occurred at the corner of Bruce's sorry frown when he said that last statement.

"I'm sorry I haven't been both. But this is really good, Dick. You're opening up and talking to me. You're finally getting things off your chest that you've been holding onto for so long."

Dick just shrugged. "I don't think it really matters, though."

"You're wrong about that. It is important that you talk to someone and whether you think so or not, everything you say is bringing you a step closer to getting the help you need right now."

Dick looked away and wrapped his arms around each other just below his chest.

"Don't stop because of that, though, Dick."

"…I don't have anything else I want to say."

"I don't believe that's true. This is a good thing, Dick. A very, very good thing."

He looked even further away. He'd snap his neck if he turned the slightest bit more.

"Please don't stop talking to me. I just want to help you and you're not letting me. Please, Dick, let me help you."

He pulled his knees into his arms and held them tight.

"Dick…" The two were silent for a couple of minutes as Dick hugged himself and Bruce tried to figure out a different approach.

"Dick? I'm not going to force you into talking to me because I know that won't help anything. But I am going to encourage you. I know you want to keep to yourself about this and figure it out alone, but you said so yourself that you couldn't handle it anymore. I'm telling you right now, you don't have to do this by yourself anymore. You're not alone, Dick, and you never have been no matter how much you may have felt like it. And if you don't really want to talk to me personally, then there are plenty of others that would be glad to help you. I just want you to speak to me about _something_. Dick? Just say anything to me. I just really want to hear you talk because I want to know if you're okay and because I enjoy hearing you go on and on about things. But you haven't done that much at all lately. And I sort of…miss that…about you."

"You like hearing me talk? Why?"

"I'm not sure exactly why, but I know that you only talk when you're are alright or willing to and I want to make sure you always are."

"I talk your ear off sometimes."

"True. But at least then I know you're happy. Or at least content."

Dick gave a small smile. "You like having me happy? Even if it gets on your nerves sometimes?"

"I've always wanted you to be happy. And your happiness doesn't ever bother me. You are a hard person to be considered bothersome."

"Oh, come on. You can't always want me happy."

"Why not?"

"You know, the pranks, annoying laughter, etc., etc. I mean, even I have to admit that when I'm happy I can be pretty dangerous and/or completely nerve-racking."

"1. Though the pranks you sometimes pull on me when you're bored are rather…unwanted, they make you smile and laugh with that wicked grin of yours, so I let you. 2. You're always dangerous. 3. While you do at times irritate me a bit, you also at the same time make me want to sm…"

Dick eyes shot at Bruce's face and he grinned. Wickedly. "Really?"

"Really what?"

Dick laughed. "Wow," He inched closer to Bruce. "I didn't know that you felt that way."

"…So are you going to keep talking to me?"

"It depends."

"Depends on what?"

"Whether or not you're hungry. I've heard ideas flow the best when you're not on an empty stomach."

"In that case, I suppose we'd better eat, then."

"Yeah. Bruce?"

"Yes?"

"I really do have a lot of problems."

"And I would like to hear about them."

"Would you really listen?"

"Of course."

"Good. Because I have a lot to say."

"And I have a lot time."

"Good."

"Good."

To Be Continued…


	5. Breakfast

***AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Personally, I don't like how I've written this story. But it is too late for me to redo it all so I'm stuck with it. And some of you actually do like it, so I'll finish it.***

Chapter 5: Breakfast

"Chinese for breakfast?"

"Yeah, why not?"

"Who even does that?"

"Well, Chinese people love it."

"Of course. It's nice to see your sense of humor is returning."

"What was that?" Dick continued to rummage through the refrigerator in hopes of finding something edible for breakfast. The freshest and least poisonous thing in there was the Chinese food Bruce had gotten the previous night.

"Never mind it. You've been at this for almost twenty minutes."

"I'm sure there is something in here we can eat."

"Dick, judging by that cheese on the top shelf that looks older than Alfred's father, I'd say that the majority of the things that could be found in this kitchen are at least Tim's-"

Bruce's eyes flew open when he heard a high-pitched shriek from in front of him. Opera worthy high-pitched. And from his peripheral vision at that time, he was able to see what looked like Dick flinging something blue and grayish-orange into the trash.

"What was that?"

"NOTHING!" Dick scurried for the trash can and quickly threw a top on it. "Man, this thing is heavy! It really needs to go out, so I'll take now."

"It doesn't even look half-empty."

"Half-full, you mean. And looks can be deceiving because this is close to overflowing."

"What's in it?"

"I-I don't know, it just needs to go out, like, right now."

"…Okay."

Dick jerked the black garbage bag out of the trash can and tied it four times in one of those really professional knots that are hard to master. He then rushed outside to the dumpster and tossed it in. He waited a few seconds before heading back as if something was about to leap out the trash at any moment. When he got back to his place, he washed his hands once, then scrubbed then thoroughly for a few minutes, and washed them two more times until they began to hurt.

"Yeah…maybe we should just get some more take out." Dick suggested when he was back in the kitchen.

"Don't worry about it." Bruce said holding up his hand. He then pointed at the door. "You should probably answer that."

"What?" Dick walked over to the door and by the time reached it, sure enough, there was a knock. "And I thought it was Alfred who had the sixth sense."

He opened the door. "Can I help you?" Manners. Very important. Otherwise you'll just get evaluated by the Bat and told to do better. Or worse, get a look from Alfred _expecting_ you to do better. But Dick hasn't had to worry about that since he was younger.

"Um, yeah. Hi. Uh, I have an order made out to this address."

"Oh really?" Dick looked back at Bruce who was mouthing something.

"Like you said, always prepared." He nodded at the doorway and Dick turned back around.

"Yeah. There was a call made to the Breakfast Station about 20 minutes from here that was made, like, half an hour ago. Is this the right address or was there a mistake or what?" The delivery guy was shaking and looked kind of pained.

"Oh no, this is the right address and everything. But the Breakfast Station seriously does deliveries?"

"Yeah, they just started. Um…"

"Yes?"

"Can you take this already? I'm on the clock and have about seven more people to get to in the next 56 minutes. Not to mention that when you've been holding all this stuff for more than a minute it really gets heavy on you."

"Oh, I'm sorry. Here I'll take that." Dick took the food out of the delivery guy's hands and headed for the kitchen.

"Hello…Dave." Bruce had walked over to the door, and with the stack of containers and such now removed, he could now see the guy's name tag.

"Hey. Could you tell your friend that the cost is $43.79?"

Bruce gave him a fifty-dollar bill. "Keep the change." He closed the door and headed into the kitchen where Dick was finishing setting the food on the table and was reaching into his wallet.

"Don't worry about. It's already paid for."

"Of course. Wow. Twice in a row you've saved the day by bringing take out."

"Beats having Chinese for breakfast."

"How did you call them thirty minutes ago?"

"Whenever Tim comes here and raids your kitchen he later tells me of how you don't have anything edible. I called when I made that excuse to the restroom after seeing that moldy bread."

"I'm pretty sure I have _something_ in here that hasn't expired. Anyway, thanks. Otherwise we'd probably be having stale doughnuts and ketchup right now."

"Mm-hmm. Before we eat, do you happen to know how many stars Breakfast Station has been rated, if any?"

Dick shot Bruce a lot of disbelief. "Really, Bruce?"

"What?"

Dick just shook his head. "No, I do not know."

"Oh. Okay, then, I guess."

"You know, the restaurant you got food from last night only had 2 ½ stars."

"Yes, but neither one of us ate, remember?"

"You really are something, Bruce."

"Oh, thanks. I've always wanted to be sometin'." A smile teased the corners of his mouth.

"Hey! Didn't I use to say that?" Bruce raised an eyebrow. "You didn't do it right anyway."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You gotta have an attitude with it or else it doesn't work." Dick smirked.

They set out all the food. "Dry pancakes, chunky grits, watery syrup, overcooked eggs, undercooked bacon, bluish sausage, lumpy orange -I'm sorry- scarlet-red juice, and should go on?"

"I get it, Bruce. Everything's repulsive. Breakfast Station got only a half star anyway."

"A half star? And you let me buy from them?"

"I didn't know you had called the place until the delivery guy was at my door."

"You were actually about to let me consume this gruel!"

"It's not gruel. It just isn't safe to eat, is all."

"How are they still in business? Don't they close restaurants with that little an inspection grade?"

"Well, yeah. But I heard that after the inspector checked out the place for, like, being sanitary and stuff –they didn't do well, by the way- he tried some of the food…And now he's having weekly check-ups to the hospital."

Bruce shook his head. "Bludhaven."

Dick raised an eyebrow. "We don't have to eat it, you know."

"And I don't intend to."

"Why don't we go someplace else to eat?" Dick suggested.

"Here in Bludhaven?" Bruce asked looking almost frightened and disgusted at the same time.

"Sure, why not?"

Bruce raised an eyebrow. There's been a lot of that going around lately. "No."

"Aw, come on, Bruce. Don't be a buzz kill." Again with the 'brow.

"…How about a restaurant in Gotham?"

"Mmm…Alright, fine. Whatever. But I'm going to be driving."

"Fine. Then I'll be picking out where we eat at."

"No way, Bruce."

"Why not?" Bruce had suggested some Italian 5-star restaurant once they were in Gotham's borders.

"Because it doesn't really seem like the kind of place to eat breakfast at."

"Italian people love it."

"Maybe so, but I neither one of us are Italian now, are we?"

"It's a nice restaurant, Dick."

"Why don't we go to an actual breakfast place? I mean, Breakfast Station may not have been a good business, but at least you knew that it was strictly just breakfast they served."

"You want to go to an all breakfast restaurant?"

"It doesn't have to be about just breakfast, Bruce. Just a place that has breakfast food at 9:20 in the morning."

"There is breakfast at-"

"_American_ breakfast?"

"Why not experience being multicultural for a morning?"

"Bruce, I've been multi-cultured my entire life, in case you've forgotten."

"Didn't we agree that I'd be the one to pick out where we eat?"

"Well, yeah. But it would make sense to eat at a place that serves American breakfast in the morning in an American city."

"If it'll make you happy…"

"Not really…"

"…then we can go somewhere else, okay?"

"Of course it can't be anything less than 5 stars exactly, though, right?"

"Why is it that you always want to eat at the…lesser restaurants?"

"It doesn't have anything to do with rank, Bruce. I'll eat anywhere as long as it has quality food and an okay price."

"Especially Breakfast Station."

"_That_ was not quality food."

"So where _do_ want to eat?"

"I don't know. What about some place like…"

"A little sharp on those turns, don't you think?"

"Oh, sorry. I didn't mean to scare you."

That shut Bruce up for a few minutes as Dick just smirked. "Look," Dick said. "Not that I don't like riding around Gotham like this, but we're getting into the city and still don't know where our destination is."

"It always is hard for us to agree on a restaurant."

"And shopping stores and anywhere else you go to buy things."

"…Why don't we just go to the manor?"

"The manor?"

"Yes. Alfred and Tim should be awake by the time we get there and we can have breakfast."

"And you can get cleaned up…Okay. The Manor it is, then."

"By the way, I've been thinking about you and Tim."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"What about us?"

"Oh, nothing really. Just your relationship, I suppose."

"Our relationship?" Dick didn't take his eyes off the road.

"Like how the two of you are always referring to each other as 'Bro', for instance."

"And…?"

"And nothing, really. I was just thinking about how nice it is how well you and he get along."

"Mm-hm."

"You treat him like he's really your little brother. Which, through adoption, I suppose he is."

Dick had winced at the word 'adoption', but Bruce was too busy looking at his own hand to notice. "I do?"

"Well, yes. You don't think so?"

Dick shrugged. "Not really."

Bruce was now looking over at Dick. "What makes you say that?"

Dick did something he rarely ever did that made Bruce know something was wrong. He hesitated -big mistake. "I…I could be nicer…you know, better to the kid, I guess."

"What gives you the impression that you're not already?"

"Just… (*sigh*) I don't know."

"Is there a problem between the two of you?"

"No, Bruce. I guess it's kinda more of a personal thing, really." Dick had long since stopped paying attention to the road and was just letting his senses guide him through the familiar city to the place he had long since called home.

"Don't you like Tim?"

"Of course. He's a great kid. We have fun. He's a genius and just great to be around. I love the little guy, you know?"

"So what's the problem?"

"Nothing really. I mean, there's not a problem. Just an issue on my part."

"And what might that issue be?"

"Has anyone ever told that you ask a lot of questions."

"Some have. And I have told you the same, as well."

"Well, Bruce, there is a difference between curiosity and being just plain nosey."

"Maybe so. But in this clan, it is all the same. And, yes, it is all necessary."

Dick rolled his eyes. "Yeah, right."

"So about you and Tim…"

"There's nothing troubling us, Bruce."

"Perhaps not the both of you, but most definitely you, individually."

"Just drop it already, Bruce."

"I thought you had agreed to talk to me."

They drove in silence for a few minutes as Bruce stared at Dick who kept his eyes glued to the road, but still not paying any attention. Finally, Dick broke the silence and confided in Bruce.

"I guess Tim sometimes kinda, I don't know, bothers me, I guess."

"Bothers you? How do you mean?"

"I don't mean like with the stuff he does or anything like that. I mean with, well…his…existence, I guess."

"_What_?"

"No, I mean, no, not like that, Bruce. I…it's complicated."

"Well I don't…WATCH OUT!" Dick finally focused on the road in front of him as Bruce leaned over and quickly took hold of the wheel. The car had slowly been drifting off course and was heading straight for an oak tree with a clueless squirrel standing idle right in front of it. Bruce with lightning-fast reflexes heaved the stirring wheel to the right and his car skidded with a jerking motion. Dick, finally getting his head in the game, slammed on the brakes. All at once, the car started spinning rapidly out of control, streaking the street and burning rubber. Then the vehicle at last came to a violent halt and was planted still in the middle of the street. Luckily, there hadn't been any others around at this hour -which there usually were.

"Dick? Are you okay?" Bruce asked trying desperately to control his breathing.

"If by that, Bruce, you mean unharmed, then, yes, I am fine. You?" Dick was panting and made no bothersome effort to hide it.

"I'm alright." They were quiet for a minute as they looked around to see if there had been any damage.

"Well that really was something." Dick announced as he started back up the car.

"Yes, it was. Maybe I should drive-"

"No way, Bruce."

"I'm just saying, you _almost_ ran us into a tree. You _almost_ killed a squirrel. You-"

"All because I _almost_ _actually_ let you get me to open up about something I don't even want to talk about."

"Dick…"

"Just drop it, Bruce." Dick rode off and kept his eyes focused on the road ahead, even though he really wasn't.

One mishap can cause so many things to be left unsaid…

"Why now, if this isn't a wonderful surprise visit of you, Master Dick." Alfred kindly greeted the young man who was seated at the long dining table.

"Hey, Alf." Dick replied lost in thought.

"Forgive me. If I had known you were to be here this morning, I would have had breakfast already prepared."

"Huh? Oh, it's no problem, Alf. Bruce had spent the night over my place and we just decided to come back here. Um, Bruce is getting, you know, cleaned up and stuff, so I guess I'm just waiting on him."

"Is there anything I can attend to you with while you wait?"

"No, that's okay, Al. I'm good."

"Very well, then, sir. I shall leave you about your business and attend to my own. If there is anything I can do for, I will be in the kitchen finishing breakfast."

"Okay. Thanks, Alf." Dick said returning to his thoughts.

"And do tell the Master to be on time for this morning's meal, if you'd be so kind." the elderly man called out as he headed for the kitchen.

"Alright."

"Where have you been?"

"And hello to you as well, Timothy."

Bruce had just gotten out of the shower. He had a fresh black suit on and his hair was still damp. He reeked of fancy cologne, overpriced soap, and expensive after shave. In other words, his usual fragrance in the morning.

"You know I hate it when you call that, Bruce."

"Hm. I need to talk to you, Tim."

"What'd I do?"

"Nothing. You haven't done wrong."

"So then what's this about?" The fifteen-year-old followed Bruce into his room. Bruce sat on the corner of his bed and placed his hand to the side of him while looking at Tim telling him to sit down, as well. _Uh-oh. _Tim thought.

"It's about Dick."

"Dick?" The young teen seemed surprised with a hint of relief that was instantly replaced with worry. "What about Dick?"

"There's actually a lot about Dick that's been going on, but I'm not going to get into all of that. What I am concerned about now is you and Dick."

"What do you mean?" He was confused, and he had every right to be because so was Bruce.

"To put a long several stories short, is there a problem between the two of you?"

"Wait. You're asking _me_ if there's a problem? You are the one who dragged me into your room all dramatic saying you need to talk to me about something. I thought something serious was going on here."

"Tim, this may be more important than either of us will ever know. So trust me when I say that this _is_ a serious matter."

"Okay, okay. To answer your question, no, I do not think that there is any kind of problem between me and Dick."

"Are you absolutely sure?"

"Yes. Well…"

"Go ahead. Tell me."

"I don't know. I mean, I don't _think_ there is a problem. But I could be wrong."

"Why do you say that?"

"It's just…I'm not sure. I mean, Dick is always really nice to me and he's a good brother and all."

"But…?"

"But sometimes he gives me these kind of _looks_."

"Looks?"

"Yeah. And it freaks me out, too. The thing is, I don't even think he _means_ to give me those looks. It's kind of like it just happens all on its own and he's not even aware of it. Sort of like when you have a best friend for a really long time and you start falling in love with her. You don't realize it until you actually _kiss_ her, but everyone else finds it flat out _obvious_. Yeah, I guess, it is sort of like that."

"Hmm." Bruce thought to himself for a moment. "What would you say these looks are of?"

"Hm?"

"There are different kinds of looks. Looks of hatred, regret, love…"

"Oh! I don't know. It's like a mix of things, really."

"A mix of what?"

"It's kind of like a mix of…well, I wouldn't really say hatred or regret, but some lighter form of it."

"Dislike?"

"I don't think so, Bruce."

Bruce sighed. "Is there anything at all else you can tell me about you and Dick?"

"No, sorry." Bruce headed out the room. "Oh, wait. Sometimes he says some really weird things to me when he's not really thinking."

"Like what?"

"Usually I just ignore it because I think he's just being, you know, him. But like last week, he called me 'prince'. I know it probably doesn't mean much, but it was just weird. And he said it with an attitude. I mean, he spat 'Prince Tim' out like it was poisonous. He's called me some other stuff by accident, too, but I can't really remember what right now. Sorry."

"Hmm. Thank you, Tim. If there is anything else you can maybe think of later, be sure to tell me."

"Okay. Bruce? Do you think Dick really doesn't like me?"

"I'm sure he does, you're a little brother to him. It's just that…there's been some stuff going on lately and I'm just trying to figure out what may be the cause of it."

"Yeah, Dick's seemed really distracted lately."

"Yes. Now you'd better get washed up because they are waiting for us."

"Already done. Hold on, Dick's here?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

"Come on, we need to get downstairs before Alfred sends for us."

"Thank you, Alfred." Bruce said as the old man set the last plate in front of him along with a glass of freshly squeezed orange juice.

"You are all quite welcome, Sirs." Alfred wanted for the slight nod from Bruce to tell him he was dismissed. "If there is anything else you may need, I will be in the kitchen." He turned and walked away.

The three "masters" sat in silence. Bruce ate slowly and kept staring at Dick. Tim, confused, kept looking from Bruce, then to Dick, down at his food for a few bites, and then back to Bruce. Dick looked depressed and kept his eyes glued to his food. He kept swirling around his eggs and rolling his sausage, never taking a single bite. Finally, the tension had grown too much and Bruce had to do something about it.

"So," he started unsure of what to say. "How's school, Tim?"

"It's fine."

"Have you told Dick about the project you have to do in history class?" Dick finally looked up when he heard his name.

Tim turned to Dick. "Monday starts Culture Week at my school. So my teacher wants us to write about our families' cultures. She said if we have more than one cultural background in our family, then we can choose one person of our family to write about. And because you come from multiple cultures, I was going to ask if I could do my project on you, if you're okay with it. It's due on Friday."

"Um…Sure. You can do your project on me, if you want."

"Cool. Thanks, Dick. So, how long are you planning on staying?"

"I don't know…" There was silence for a few minutes.

Then Bruce spoke. "You haven't eaten at all. Aren't you hungry, Dick?"

"Not really."

"Why not?"

"I don't know. I just lost my appetite. I don't really feel like eating." Alfred came in the room at that point with a pitcher of orange juice.

"Might anyone be in need of a refill? Why, Master Dick, it doesn't look as if you've had anything to eat. Is there something wrong with it?"

"Sorry, Alf. It's not the food. Honest, it looks great. I'm just not up for eating right now."

"Are you alright, might I ask?"

"I'm fine, Alfred, really."

"We're all fine, Alfred. You may go." In other words, stay out of the way for a while as I talk to my son about something that can do without distractions.

"Very well, then, Master Bruce."

Bruce waited until Alfred was out the room and then turned his attention to Tim. "Tim? Shouldn't you be getting to work on your project? Just because it is not due until the end of the week, doesn't mean you have to put it off until then."

Tim could tell that Bruce was trying to be alone to talk to Dick. "Yes, Sir." He quickly picked up his plate and glass and went in the kitchen to Alfred. Bruce turned his focus dead at Dick.

"Okay, Dick. Let's talk."

**To Be Continued…**

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** I want to thank everyone for all the nice reviews. Also thank you to everyone who liked/subscribed to me/my stories. It really means a lot to us writers. I am so sorry it took me so long to put up this chapter, I've been busy. But I'll try to get the next one up as soon as possible. Please continue with reviews. _~DCKidWing13~_


	6. The Talk

**Warnings: **This chapter includes a small bit of language children 10 and under probably shouldn't read if not mature enough. This chapter includes a small bit of talk about suicide. This is self-beta read. Mistakes=MINE.

**Summary:** Dick and Bruce exchange a few words. It doesn't end too well.

Chapter 6: The Talk

"Fine, but only because I know you won't drop this until you get answers." Dick sighed. "Where do you want to start?"

"Chances aren't too good that you will willingly talk about-"

"No, Bruce, they aren't, so don't even bother asking."

"What's the issue between you two? I asked Tim if there was any problem and he thought your relationship was just fine."

"Bruce-" Dick was warning him, but Bruce ignored it.

"But he had pointed out something I've notice, too."

"Bruce, please-"

He went on. "We both notice that sometimes you give Tim certain "looks". I can't exactly put a label on it, but I know it isn't anything good."

"Bruce, why are you doing this?"

"I'm just trying to derail the problem before there's a crash."

"And what exactly makes you think that there is a problem here?"

"Dick, you said that Tim's _existence_ bothered you."

"I didn't mean it like that."

"Then how did you mean it?"

"I just…it doesn't matter."

"Yes, Dick, it does matter. Not only may this be an issue for your relationship with Tim, -however you see it- but it is also a key component to one of the problems you've been having lately, which, need I remind, is holding intensions that are putting your life on the line."

"Like you really…"

"Like I really what?"

"Just drop the entire thing, Bruce. I don't want to talk about it, and I am not going to talk about anything I don't want to. So don't even think you can make me."

"What's the _real_ issue here?"

"Just drop it, Bruce. Yes, I did agree to talk to you, but not about anything that I do want to talk about."

Bruce stared at Dick for a moment, studying him. He thought back on every moment he's seen Dick and Tim together. Most of them were good and pleasant. Others showed the "looks" from Dick to Tim. What were they? Had he seen those looks somewhere else before? Then he remembered. Jason. He gave Jason the same looks, but much more often than he did Tim. Why was he giving them "looks"? It just didn't make since. They were all supposed to be brothers. Then it hit Bruce. They weren't brothers. The three of them barely have anything in common. Jason was the aggressive one. Tim was the genius. And Dick…Dick was just so many things. One of them was his being understanding –most of the time, anyway. But there was something about Bruce and Tim and Jason that Bruce felt that Dick just _didn't_ understand and he didn't know why. Why couldn't Dick understand?

Minutes had passed and Bruce was still studying Dick, who had lost himself in silence, not thinking at all, but just sitting quietly, absorbing the stillness. What was it about Jason and Tim that Dick didn't like? What did they both have in common? Not much. The only things they really did have in common were…

"You, you're jealous, aren't you?"

"_What_? No."

"But you are. You're jealous about Tim and you were jealous for Jason, too."

Dick looked away. "I…"

"Why are you so jealous, Dick? I thought you were okay with my taking on a new partner. Or is it about me taking on a new ward?"

Ward. Dick came to truly hate that word as much as "adoption". He used to think it was a good thing to be Bruce's ward, but he was wrong and knew that now. Dick was Bruce's ward, not his son. A ward is just another mouth to feed until they're eighteen and legally no longer your problem. A _son_, however, was different. No matter what the law said officially, your son would always be your problem to look after. Dick _was_ Bruce's ward. But now he is 24 and is nothing. Nothing to Bruce or even himself, he thought constantly. Bruce wasn't his father, his father was dead. Bruce, Batman actually, was only Robin's father. But Dick wasn't Robin anymore so he was fatherless. And no version of Bruce was his father.

"…Both."

"Why? You said that you didn't mind."

"I…I was lying, Bruce. Of course it bothered me. Jason became the next Robin what felt like immediately after I became Nightwing. And after the stuff with him, it seemed like Tim became Robin just as quick. You weren't even going to let me be your partner until I begged a million and one times and promised on, like, fifty things and after months of training and other stuff, and you still weren't sure if you wanted me to work with even after I proved to be worthy of it. I mean, with Tim and Jason, you practically influenced them to become Robin and let them out on the field sooner and more than you let me. I just…I don't know."

Bruce looked at Dick. Did he really think that he had treated Jason and Tim differently than he did Dick? "Dick, I wasn't trying to replace you or anything. It's just that Jason was troubled and needed guidance. He _**needed**_ to be Robin. And Tim was dealing with his father and needed something to get his mind off things. And he had proved himself a great detective and later a great Robin. They needed to be Robin and Batman needed a Robin."

"Why couldn't **I** have been that Robin?"

"You didn't want to be my partner anymore. You went on to become Nightwing and your own man."

"But I didn't want to. Yes, I did want to have my own life, but I never wanted to stop being your partner. And I thought you felt the same way, but apparently not. All I wanted you to do was say that you needed me and that I was important to you. If you would have said that or anything similar, I swear, Bruce, I would still be Robin today and the first by your side. But you didn't. All you said when we last saw each before those three years was that Batman needed a robin. _A_ robin. It didn't matter to you who it was so long as they wore a mask and that cape. That's why you made Jason Robin not long after that. You didn't want me, you just wanted someone to be your _sidekick_. And I would have been forever if you'd just asked me to."A tear slithered down Dick's right cheek and he made no effort to try to hide it. He was tired of hiding himself and just wanted to open up a bit.

Bruce was shocked. And if only Dick were looking into Bruce's eyes to see how sorry they were and how much they really cared just then. "I…I didn't know you felt that way."

Dick just shook his head as more tears fell steadily. "You wouldn't have."

"I should have. I should have done a lot of things. I should have told you so many things in years' time. And I'm sorry I haven't. I thought you didn't want to be my partner anymore. I thought you just wanted to go out on your own. I should have asked you if that was what you really wanted. I'm sorry, Dick."

Dick let out two brief, silent sobs. He sighed and shook his head again. He sat there for another half-minute with tears starting to still. He then stood up and picked up his plate.

"I'm not hungry." He pushed in his chair and headed for the kitchen. Bruce picked up his plate and both glasses and followed after his son.

"Dick," he said when he entered the room. "I…"

"Don't, Bruce." Dick emptied off his plate and rinsed it off.

"But I need to." Bruce walked over to the sink to rinse off his plate and the glasses. "Listen, Dick. I'm sorry about everything that's happened, I really, truthfully am. If I could turn back time to just yesterday, I would slap myself so hard for be such an ass to you. I know since the moment I took you in that I should have treated you so much better, and I'm sorry I didn't."

They set their dishes in the sink and Dick walked into another room. Bruce followed. They wound up in a much familiar room. The one with the clock that contained so many secrets behind it. Dick sat down on the small couch. His arms weren't quite folded, but just holding each other. Bruce sat in the large cushioned chair across from Dick, trying to look into his son's eyes, but he just wouldn't let him.

"Dick, I'm not looking for you to forgive me for anything. But I just need you to know that I _am_ sorry. I'm sorry about everything. I'm sorry I wasn't there all those times you needed me. I'm sorry that I could not quite understand you like I should have. I'm sorry I couldn't give you what you needed. I'm sorry I overestimated you so much-"

"Overestimated me?" Dick looked up and Bruce could finally see those deep, blue eyes. He was at least listening, so Bruce found that good.

"Yes, I overestimated you. I overestimated your strength. I thought you could handle the way things were going, but apparently, you needed much more."

"What are you talking about?"

"The way things were in your life just wasn't stable enough for you. You needed more than what I gave you. I overestimated your feelings. I always knew you were quite sensitive, but I _under_estimated by how much, therefore overestimating your emotional state. You needed an environment that was closer to what you grew up with in order for your mind to have stability."

"I needed a father to be there in order to not hate myself so much!" Dick shouted.

Bruce was stunned. The look that was in Dick's eyes at that very moment was one Bruce had only seen once, maybe twice from Dick. A look of pure hatred. And it was aimed directly at Bruce. Was Dick saying that he hated himself when he was younger because of Bruce?

"Dick…I don't understand." Bruce really was confused. How could he be the reason Dick hated himself?

"Then let me spell it out, Bruce. You. Were. Not. There. And not matter how many times you apologize, it won't change anything. It's good you're not looking for forgiveness because I'm not going to give to you, Bruce. No, not this time. Over the years I've been constantly telling myself to forgive you, that you can't help it. But, damnit, Bruce, I just can't do that anymore. And I won't. I'm not going to keep protecting you by lying to myself and saying that it's okay." Yes, he was pissed, and was letting it out. "Because it's not okay, Bruce! You'll never understand this, but it just isn't okay. Not everyone is a heartless bastard who can suppress their emotions forever because they are so concerned about being a goddamned bat all the time! I don't want to be a bat! I've been suppressing my emotions enough without your influence! And now you're wondering cluelessly why I want to kill myself so badly because you just don't get it! You'll never get it! You'll never understand how much I needed you to be around more. To just pay attention to me instead of ignoring me all the damned time! You didn't overestimate me. You couldn't have possibly because you weren't around to know just how to estimate me. But I overestimated you. I always thought that you could just stop being the friggin' Bat for a second for someone who cared, but I was wrong! I was wrong about it all! You don't care about anything or anyone except yourself and your **fucking** job as Batman! So congrats, Bruce. You achieved what you always wanted. You're a fucking bat, okay? You're heartless, cruel, insensitive, and more than I could possibly say! And I don't know why you even bother trying to keep me alive! I don't matter to you; I'm just a back-up to you. I'm not your son! I'm not your ward! I'm not your sidekick or even partner. Hell, I don't know if I can even be considered your _ally_! Admit it, Bruce. I'm nothing to you, just another wandering soul for you to possess. I don't matter to you! I've learned that a long time. So don't even pretend like you care, Bruce, because I know you really don't. I don't even know why you put forth the effort because I know I'm not worth even that! Not to you, me, or anyone! So why don't you just let me kill myself already and do you a favor!"

Dick's face was soaked in tears and his eyes portrayed nothing less but pure anger, hatred, and the feeling of betrayal. His hands were in tight fists and he looked like a wild animal ready to attack at any moment. His teeth were clenched and he was absolutely pissed to the core. It didn't take a detective to see that much. Or a smart guy to know that he meant and believed everything he just said. Bruce was appalled. He didn't know what to, what to say. He knew he just had to say _something_. But he didn't know what. What could he do or say to possibly convince Dick that he was wrong.

"Dick…"

"Just leave me alone, Bruce." Dick stood up and walked out of the room. Bruce wanted to follow him. He knew he still had to say or do something to change Dick's mind about this. But he just couldn't do anything but sit there and watch his former ward exit the room.

Why didn't he stop him? Why didn't he just prevent all of this from happening in the first place? Bruce sat there in the same spot, unmoved, for a few more minutes in thought before recalling one of the last things Dick had said. _So why don't you just let me kill myself already and do you a favor!_ Bruce swore and leapt up. He ran out of the room in search for Dick. If (no pun intended) there was still a Dick to be found…

**TO BE CONTINUED**

**Author's Note:** The next chapter will be shorter and will be about Bruce searching for Dick. I'm sorry it took so long to post this chapter. I promise the next one won't take as long (I think). Thanks to everyone! Kudos!


	7. The Search

**All mistakes are mine.**

Chapter 7: The Search

Bruce pounded down the hall, jerking open every door he passed. He scanned the rooms quickly, but thoroughly, calling out Dick's name. He would wait a few seconds and when he got no reply, he raced onward to the next room. He had to find Dick before he did something stupid that would have a bigger effect than he would ever realize.

Bruce had checked every room on that floor and moved on to the upstairs. He searched desperately for Dick, but the poor soul was nowhere to be found. Bruce stopped when he shoved open the door to Tim's room. The young 15 year old boy was lying on his bed working on something. _Must be his project _Bruce thought. But he didn't have time to think. He had to act. Now.

"Tim, this is urgent." He was panting and a few random stumps of sweat were quivering on his forehead. "Have you seen or even heard Dick at all?"

"No," Tim looked at Bruce confused. "I haven't seen him since breakfast. Why, is there something wrong?"

"No, I just really need to find him soon."

"I could help you look for-"

"No! That's okay, Tim. Just go back to work and don't worry about it." If there was the chance that Bruce couldn't have gotten there fast enough to save Dick, there wasn't any reason as to why Tim should see his freshly dead brother. No, Bruce had to find him first. He had to.

"Um…okay." He hesitated, but went back to his work. Bruce closed the door back and jetted down the hall. _I have to find him._ He thought. _I won't let my son do this. I can't just let another son die when I have the means to prevent it. I will prevent it. I have to. Dick is too much to me to have him die. Why couldn't he just understand that? He __**is**__ my son. I love him so much. But why can't I ever just tell him that? What is so hard about saying, "I love you" every now and then? This is my fault entirely. I would never forgive myself if I let anything happen to Dick. I just couldn't. Ever. Damnit, why didn't he say something years ago?_

Bruce had checked the entire house only to find nothing he wanted to find. Dick couldn't have left. They drove in Bruce's car and Dick wouldn't have walked because it would have been too easy for Bruce to catch up with him. Dick wouldn't go to the cave because that would be one of the first places Bruce would have looked. Damnit. Bruce would never find Dick because he was Dick. If he didn't want to be found, he wouldn't be. Not by Bruce, Clark, absolutely no one. Which is what worried Bruce the most. Dick could hide anywhere he wanted to. He could hide in the manor and not be found for days, if that's what he intended for. Days. It only takes half a second to slice you're your throat, and Bruce wouldn't have found Dick until it was far too late. Damnit, why had Bruce trained him so well?

There was nowhere else in the house to look. Bruce needed to find Alfred. If Dick had left, Alfred would know. Alfred knew everything. It was a helpful gift, but it could also get annoying sometimes. Bruce found Alfred dusting off a bookcase in one of the rooms that haven't been used since Bruce's… but it still needed a good dusting every now and then.

"Alfred!" Bruce's breath was out of control and he was covered in sweat. Alfred just hoped there wouldn't be a stain in his shirt later on.

"Has the Master missed me? Might I ask-"

"I don't have time for this, Alfred! I need to find Dick. Now. Have you seen him? Do you have any idea where he might be?"

"I'm afraid I have not seen the young master since earlier this morning. My apologies, Sir." Bruce felt his eyes sting. If Alfred didn't know where Dick was, then there was no hope at all for finding him. The stinging grew and Bruce's vision began to slightly blur. He felt his eyes start to tremble. _I couldn't save him. I killed my son. He's the only one I would ever let get so close to me besides Alfred. Why couldn't he see that?_

Bruce clenched his teeth hard and his hands formed tight fists. He head began to slightly shake and he shut his eyes. He closed them hard and turned his head. All of a sudden, he felt like he was eight years old again. How he tried so hard to be tough, but knew it wouldn't matter because the people he loved most in the world were dead. He didn't even do anything to try and stop it from happening. Just like he couldn't stop this from happening. Bruce felt his leg begin to tremble and he just wanted to drop to his hands and knees and just cry it all out. He wanted to cry out all his pain. His pain for Dick, his parents, Jason, everything. But he knew the Bat wouldn't let him because he was supposed to be strong and fearless. But one of his biggest fears just came true. No, he was not going to listen to the Bat. No, not this time. If he wanted to cry, then he sure as hell would. Because his son was dead. And he couldn't help him. He couldn't save Dick. It was his fault. Dick died because of him.

Bruce's heart ached. He felt like this enormous weight just swept over him, pulling him down. He couldn't fight it. He was too weak. No matter what the Bat said, Bruce would always need his son. He let out a near silent gasp. His entire body shook. But Alfred didn't see. He was busy with his dusting.

"However, Master Bruce," Alfred said reassuringly as he replaced a few books to their proper places. "I think I might know a place Master Dick may be if you have already searched the rest of the manor." Bruce's I shot open and he looked dead at the old man.

"Where?" It was almost a whisper.

"I believe the roof, if you have not been there yet."

Bruce regained himself. "The _roof_?"

"Yes, Sir. In the past I have known the young man to have…" Alfred looked to where an absent Bruce was. Unknowingly of what just happened with Bruce, the English man shook his head and with a sigh, returned to his work.

_The roof. I have to get to the roof. Why would dick be on the roof? There isn't time to think about that now. I have to save my son._ Bruce ran out the front door over to the side of the manor. He quickly and carelessly climbed up the side, knocking off a few tiles here and there. _This would have been easier with my grappling hook. Or even my gauntlets._

Finally, Bruce reached the top of the side of the manor. He hoped up and landed on the roof. He looked around. Dick wasn't there…

**To Be Continued?**


	8. Nature's Gift

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** I think I made Bruce too emotional in the last chapter. But an emotional Bruce is good, right? I've put up a poll on my profile page for the next thing I write. Vote whether you think Bruce should be more or less emotional, if you please could. Thank you all.**

**Warnings:**** None. Self-beta, guys. Just go along with it, all right?**

**My Son Chapter 8: Nature's Gift**

Bruce just stood there on top of the roof unable to move. He felt his heart drop into the pit of his stomach and drown. There, the acid ate away at it, but slowly so he could fell all the pain as his heart was brutally stabbed open and died. At that moment, Bruce had felt the most empty than he had ever felt before. After he met Dick, that is. He did not know what to do. So he just stood there in disbelief and tried to tell himself that Dick was really okay. That none of this had happened these last few months. That Dick had stopped harming himself long ago and never tried it again afterwards. That he had been dreaming and Dick was at home in Bludhaven or working on his bike or something. And Bruce tried so hard to believe one of those explanations, any other explanation than this, but he couldn't. Reality had too strong a hold on him. So he just stood there as the truth pounded away at the little remains of his miserable heart.

_My son…_Bruce nearly stumbled as he took a step back. _I…I couldn't save him. My son…he's…_Bruce took two more steps back and his right foot slid off the side of the roof. Unable to think clearly, he fell and his entire body slid off the side. Out of self-reaction Bruce managed to just barely grab onto a piece of loose, but firm tile sticking out. He hung on until he could regain his ability to think and slowly hoisted himself up.

He sat down a bit closer to the center of the roof. It was when let out a long, painful sigh of truth and turned his head that he noticed something attached to the loose tile that had just saved his life. He scooted over to examine it. Looking closely at it, Bruce found it to be exactly as he thought. A piece of clothing. Cheap clothing. _Dick's?_ It had to be. Who else would be wandering around on a roof, (at this time of day anyway)? And it was cheap. _He __**was**__ here._ But where was he now? Bruce snatched up the piece of clothing and held tightly on to it. _Why would Dick go to the roof?_

Bruce, finally thinking, realized just how high up he really was. God, and the percentage rate of suicide by falling off of roofs in the U.S. alone… Bruce thought about it and realized how much sense it would make if Dick decided to go that way. _His parents died from falling. It would make sense if Dick…_ Bruce felt the sudden urge to panic, but kept as much control as he could muster. Which wasn't nearly much as he would have had if he was wearing the cowl.

He quickly slid over to the side of the roof and peered over it with his eyes closed. He swallowed and felt a great disgust when he thought about what he might see; what he saw the day Dick lost his parents applied to Dick. Bruce quickly flicked open his eyes and looked down. He sighed in relief and swallowed again. He searched over the edge of the rest of the roof's perimeter.

After about a minute, Bruce halfway sat back down. _Okay, so Dick was here. And he isn't down there. I couldn't find him in the house. Maybe, just maybe, he might still be alive. _Bruce felt his heart leap back up halfway as the tiniest bit of hope caught hold of him. And he took it. He needed it. He needed to know that his son was okay and there was no big evidence here to say that he was not. Physically, anyway.

Bruce stood, still clutching onto the piece of clothing. For a minute he just stood there deep in thought. Then his eyes actually saw what they were aiming at. The scenery on top of the roof, looking over the sea, was something he had never quite noticed before in this brilliant way. The way the sun shone so beautifully over the water's surface was just a masterpiece. _It must look amazing at sunrise and set._ And Bruce realized it. _This must be why Dick used to come up here. To get away from everything. To just free his mind for a while and forget his troubles. To feel safe and remind himself of the beauty the world has to offer. I…I understand. I actually understand this._

For a few minutes, Bruce stood there inhaling it all. For the first time, he could feel the sun's warmth. It felt…like love. Like a big hug, one he needed. He closed his eyes and breathed it all in. It was like magic had wrapped itself around his heart and whispered in his ear, "Everything will be all right. Just hold on". Bruce let his mind wander and look back on to happier times with Dick. For the next quarter-hour, Bruce drenched himself in memories sweeter than anything he's known in a long time.

"Dick…" His eyes were still closed and his heart began to swell. "I…I'm sorry…Dick." At that moment, he felt his heart burst from so much emotion and a single tear willingly journeyed down his right cheek. Everything felt so beautiful, and yet, so painful. "I…I love you. I love you, my son. I love you." Bruce slowly opened his eyes and took one last glimpse at nature's gift. "I think…I think I am beginning to understand, Dick. I'm beginning to understand this, my son." He blinked slowly and thought back on one last memory before getting off of the roof.

**Thank you for reading. Please vote on the poll to help me out, okay?**


	9. Faith and a Robin

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** I didn't get many votes on the poll (10), so I am sorry if this isn't how you would like Bruce to be. (I really did ****_not_**** mean for that to sound snotty or anything). I do not own the phrase "All things bright and beautiful". That's the title of an Owl City album.**

Chapter 9: _Faith_…and a **Robin**...

Bruce walked calmly in no general direction. After getting off of the roof, he was less panicked and his heart rate had decreased, though he was still greatly worried and still had that feeling in the pit of his stomach. His breathing had steadied and he was now working on staying on his feet. He felt like he could black out at any moment and wouldn't wake up for weeks. And he wouldn't have minded that so much if he did not have a suicidal son to find.

After a short time, Bruce found himself heading towards a familiar place. A somewhat pleasant and peaceful place that he realized he only went to if Dick was around. Perhaps it was just an instinct that told him to go here. Or maybe it was an understanding of his son. Whatever it was, it had led him here, which had to mean something. Hopefully, it meant something pleasant and not what Bruce feared.

Crisp, autumn leaves crunched under every footstep. The sun shone through the trees and the dying leaves that had once mingled with beautiful flowers only a season ago. The light over the trees holding remaining leaves caused the scene to flicker with color. All things bright and beautiful lit up the ground and atmosphere. And it was in this moment that something told Bruce that it was all okay. That Dick was okay. Though this time, it wasn't the mystic feel of magic that nature had presented to him. No, it was more than that. It was something inside of him. Something from deep down in his heart. It wasn't just hope. It was truth. A truth that Bruce could feel was real. Something that he wasn't just telling himself so to calm down and gain a small grasp of himself for a moment. It was something that he _knew_, not in his mind as fact, but in his heart as faith. As trust. As truth. It was…it was understanding. True understanding from a father to his son. To _his_ son. Richard John Grayson Wayne was indeed his son as much as he was John Grayson's even if not by blood. Even though Bruce did not quite understand it, nor wanted to trust it, he just could not help but know in his heart that his son was not harmed. His mind told him to still worry because Dick could be doing God knows what right now. But his heart calmed him with a knowing, trustful truth of his son never being able to do what his mind feared in this manner. "_He's okay. Everything is okay."_ is what he did not hear, but felt. **_Go after him. You've wasted too much time already on that damned roof. He could be killing himself right now. Don't stop, just go and find him. 45 minutes have already passed and it takes less than ten seconds to do something stupid. FIND HIM! NOW! GO! GO! GO! GO! HURRY!_**That is what he heard. He did as the voice inside his head instructed him and followed what his heart was saying together. But you can't do both to the full extent. One has to dominate the other. And Bruce was a man of logic and facts, not faith and heart. So instead of believing in this strange, illogical feel, he trusted his mind and instincts, things he knew well and held familiarity. With that decision made, Bruce broke out into a jog, followed by a full-speed run through the trees and leaves. He ignored what his heart spoke to him as worry instantly took over with assistance of instinct by mind. And it was because of this, Bruce never turned in the direction his heart had told him to. He did not see the _robin_ watching over him…

After a minute or so of dashing through dead leaves, knowing trees, and explicit scenes that held a bit of mystery, but more so peace, Bruce came to an abrupt stop. Long, strong branches with leaves just starting to change color to what seemed to be a brilliant mix of lavenders and magentas mingling with peach and scarlet colors hung in his way. But that was not what caused him to cease in his frantic rampage. No, it was what he noticed behind the thick branches. Bending and twisting his body in ways he'd never thought possible by himself, he aimed to get through the small opening in the branches that a child could easily climb through. Bruce cocked his neck oddly enough to set off a chain of popping and crackling noises that made a lump collect in his throat. He forced an unnatural twist of his hips to gain more control of his legs. It was the kind of twist he saw Dick do all the time. However, _normal_ people's hips don't move that way. And Bruce could now understand exactly why. He took his right leg and pushed it up against his left for a further boost. Feeling almost stuck, Bruce sucked in his stomach and held his breath. He struggled for only a moment before his head was finally out on the other side. Now breathing in slight, quick amounts, Bruce repositioned his arm to regain some circulation. He placed a hand on the branch that was currently crushing his chest and wiggled his other arm out to do the same. Carefully, he tried to put his hips back into a normal position, but they were stuck between the branches. Bruce swore and tried to foolishly pull out and quickly regretted it. After a few minutes of trying to escape the branches' grasp and barely being able to breathe, he decided enough was enough. For the next few seconds, Bruce shook and moved his body in the way of complete panicking…minus the panic, of course. It was when his left shoe had slipped off, halfway buried in the ground, that he finally felt something. It was the smallest of change in his hips' position, but he felt it. So he continued his little trick until his shirt was completely of havoc, he had acquired multiple small cuts, his feet had become bare and slightly dirty, his hair was ruffled and contained bits of nature, and his pants were torn –specifically around the waist and ankles. It was when a bit of cool air hit some of now exposed skin on his upper body that he realized that he no longer had his jacket. And all of a sudden, there was a series of long scrapes along his outer thigh, waist, below his navel, and *buttocks* as his hips were release into their natural position all too quickly. Bruce ignored the diminutive pain and loss of clothing and took a firm hold on the branch. Using a great deal of his strength, he pushed against the sturdy wood and slowly, he was able to slide his body out, all the while still losing his coverage. With his upper body now out, his weight on one side of the branch shifted, causing his body to slip off onto the ground with his legs still on the other side. By the time Bruce had finally been able pull his legs through, his pants up to his knees were completely gone and he had come across several more cuts and two or three splinters, as well. But that did not matter right now. He stood up feeling quite exposed, but ignored it. When turning to his right to regain his footing, Bruce heard chirping and noticed a tunnel between some bushes. He carefully poked his head back through the branches and saw that it indeed was a tunnel connecting the two sides. A tunnel that was big enough to harbor a grown man. Even of his size. He let out an agitated curse and headed back in the direction of his goal without looking back. And once again, he missed the robin that watched over him. The robin that protected him. **_His_** robin.

After jogging a few more feet, Bruce paused. Relief filled him as he saw, only a few feet away from him, Dick. But it was instantly replaced with worry when Bruce noticed just how still Dick was. He was lying on his side, back to Bruce, on the forest ground. And he just laid and laid and laid and, well, laid some more. It was after what felt like an eternity and a half that Bruce began to feel light headed. He realized that he wasn't breathing and his heart _must_ have stopped. He took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. He did it again, though his heart ached and his lungs felt strangled. Minutes more passed and still, nothing happened.

_I failed him_. Bruce dropped his head in shame and closed his eyes tight enough to hurt. _I'm his father… I was supposed to protect him…even from himself. But I failed. I failed him. I failed myself. I failed Alfred, Tim. I failed to be a dad. I failed at being a father. I…I failed my son._ At the last thought, Bruce felt a silent tear slide down his cheek.

"Would you just go away?" Bruce's head shot up at the all-too-familiar voice that was somewhat unsettled. His heart leapt with what a normal person could almost call joy. To Bruce, it was a hell of a lot more than words could ever express in that moment. Partly because he was speechless.

"…Dick…" Relief covered his features and his organs finally felt free enough again to function properly. But that was replaced a bit once Dick responded.

"Go. A. Way."

"…I'm…not leaving you."

Though Bruce could only see Dick's backside, he could feel the anger build up inside of him. Dick clutched the grass and snarled. "Go away! I'm a stranger to you; you don't even know me!"

"I do know you, Dick." Bruce took half a step forward, carefully.

"No, you don't. You'd like to think you do, but you don't. You may know my moves and sometimes what I'm thinking, but you don't know _me_." Dick curled just the slightest bit. "You don't know how I feel. You don't know what kind of person I really am inside."

"Dick, I do-"

"**NO YOU DON'T!** You don't know _anything_! If you really knew me, then you would have _known_ that I would _never_ kill myself like **this**. You would _know_ that I wouldn't just run away into the forest and just _off_ myself. In fact, if you _really_ knew me, it would not have taken you this long to find me. And actually, if you had **ever** _known_ me, then none of this would even be happening. You would have talked me out of it _years_ ago and I would have never looked back. I wouldn't be reduced to cutting and lashing out at myself. I could be happy. Hell, I'd even settle for just _content_. But you _don't_ know me. You never did. If you had, we wouldn't be here right now. We wouldn't have so many issues with each other. We'd be an actual _family_, not just in name. But none of that will ever happen because you'll never know me. You will never **ever** understand me, okay? You will _never_ understand me." By this point, Dick was propped up on elbows, back to the ground, staring at Bruce from the corner of his eye. He turned his head back away from the sky and let it hang down.

"…I…I do understand you." Dick made a sound with the tip of his tongue that would become the trademark of a future Robin. "No, I really do."

"How could you possibly ever?" Dick turned back around so that, once again, his back was to Bruce.

"…I'm…not…sure how I can explain it…"

"Try."

"…uh…Well… When I was looking for you, one of the places I went was the roof. I saw that you were not there and… I don't know how I can explain to you that I _do_ understand you, Dick." Bruce sighed and rubbed the back of his neck. "…I…I…saw the sun."

"…What?"

"I…saw the sun."

"…okay…"

"I mean I really saw it. Over the water."

"…?"

"It…was beautiful."

"I bet." Bruce could hear Dick rolling his eyes when he said that.

"No, I mean… I'm not talking about the sun."

"Right, you're talking about the sun over the water and how beautiful it was. See, I actually _listen_." That last part he murmured, but Bruce heard it no less.

Bruce sighed. "I'm talking about you. Yes, I'm talking about the sun over the water, but I'm talking about you."

"…You're comparing me to the sun?"

"No. Well, I'm not, but you are like the sun in many ways."

"You're saying I'm huge ball of gas that's gonna destroy the solar system when I explode in a few million years?!"

"_What?_ No!" Dick lay back on his elbows and looked at Bruce from the corner of his eye again. Partly because he wanted to make sure he wasn't getting any amusement out of this. "You're not of understanding me." (**A/N**: Yes, that _is_ a proper sentence.)

Dick gave a breathy 'h' sound from the back of his throat that resembled a weak attempt at a chuckle. "Now you how _I_ feel."

"Dick… I was on the roof. I saw the sun over the water and I understood."

"So, you took a glance and you just magically understand someone, eh? Wow, I've gotta now how that works." Bruce was getting the slightest bit annoyed at all the sarcasm, and even more so because Dick wasn't even _trying_ to understand.

_Am _I_ really like that?_ "No. I saw the beauty and… Dick, it was **nature's gift**!"

"Wha-"

"Nature's gift. It told me you were okay. It…it gave me faith."

"_Faith?_"

"In you. I saw the sun over the sea; it was beautiful. I stared at it for a good half hour, I bet. When I was on that roof, looking at the scenery, I understood a bit about you that I never quite had before." Dick was listening now, Bruce could tell. "Looking at such beauty made me realize why you would ever go up to the roof. The view is amazing! I would have never valued it so much until you helped me to understand it. To understand you. On that roof, I did understand you. I understood that you would want to go up there to just get away from the world for a little while. To just relax and forget your troubles. To free your mind and…feel apart of something true again. Through all that we do, to remind yourself that the world is still a beautiful place so long as you're willing to see it as such. To feel safe and free again because God knows gypsies have _got_ to free."

"…We don't do well trapped behind stone walls." Dick offered, anger completely forgotten.

"And I've set up quite a few walls for you over the years, haven't I? But that wasn't all that happened to me on that roof. I understood why you would go up there, but I began to understand other things about you, too. I…started to understand how hard things really are for you. I thought that I understood before, but it wasn't until today that I actually _felt_ that I understood. I ignored some of the feelings that came to me, but they _were_ there. I know they were. I felt them. After what happened on the roof, I grew a sort of trust, a faith, in you. In that you wouldn't just kill yourself like that because that's not who you are, even if you threaten to. I felt it, but in my mind, I was so worried that you would do something stupid, that I ignored it. But you're not stupid, Dick. And I'm sorry that I couldn't have enough faith in myself to know that you would be okay." By now, Bruce's voice had started to crack and he knew that Dick noticed it, but he did not care because he needed to tell him this. "Because…because you're always okay, Dick. And I know that, I do. But I just can't help but worry for you. I worry about you all the time. I worry about you even when you are three feet away from me, playing video games when you know that you should be studying. I worry about you even when you accidently fall asleep in the Batmobile. I worry about you when you're telling some ridiculous joke. I worry about you when you're sneaking a cookie before dinnertime. I worry about you when you ruffle Tim's hair. I worry about you when you play along with Jason who always takes it too seriously, but you do it anyway. I worry about you when you play checkers with the Commissioner while you're waiting for me pick you up because I said you couldn't come with me on a case until you're older. And heaven knows you hated that, but you listened because you trusted me. You shouldn't have, but you did. You gave your heart to me and all I did was crush it in return. You looked up to me and I failed you. I failed you so many times and you still forgave. You shouldn't have, you really shouldn't have. You believed in me, even when I didn't believe in myself. You showed me that the world isn't all dark. You helped me, even when I lied and said that I didn't want it. You listened to me every time I talked. You may not have always obeyed me, but you did listen. You valued my opinion even though most of the time it was pure crap. You needed me, you had faith in me. And all I did, in return to all that you've done for me, is push you away. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to, but I was afraid. I was afraid because I came to love you. I was afraid to lose anyone else that mattered to me. But I still did by pushing you away. You had wrapped around your finger from the moment you first walked into the manner, I swear you did. I couldn't help but love you, Dick. And I know, I sucked at showing it, I always will. I knew that you'd probably be better off with someone else, but, God, Dick, **I** needed you. I know I shouldn't have been so selfish, but you became the light of my world. The moment I took you in, I knew there was no going back because I'd be a lost soul without you. I know I wasn't around. I know I was always away on either stupid business trips or a mission in some other country and you weren't allowed to come because you had school. You really wanted to come. And I know you hated me for going. But if it weren't for you, Dick, I would not have gone at all. I'd stay in the 'Cave constantly. Alfred would have left me _year_s ago. Wayne Enterprises would be chaotic and soon shut down by the bastards I was only able to fire because of you. If it wasn't for you, you God-blessed angel, **you**, I'd have been dead a long time ago. Tim and Jason would probably be wandering the streets or _worse_. The League would just be a society given name for a bunch of heroes who fight all the time and on the rarest of occasions actually collaborate. Half the League wouldn't even exist! Gotham and Bludhaven would be burned to the ground. The Titans would have never formed. The world would probably be taken over by Doomsday or someone. Babs would probably be dead. Joker and Blockbuster would still be running around making things worse. There probably wouldn't be a Superman. Roy would have never kicked his addiction and would probably be dead by now. The Commissioner would be dead. Wally would be dead. Barry would be dead. Garth would be dead. Donna would be dead. Just about everyone we know would be **DEAD** right now if it wasn't for you. But you just don't see that. I don't know why, but you don't. You need to see that, Dick. You need to see how much of a difference you make in the world. You need to see just how many hearts you've touched. You need to see how many lives you've saved outside of that damned mask. You need to know how important you are to people like me, Alfred, Tim, and others. You are just so special, Dick. Only you could have such an impact on people and the world and still not see it after so long. How, Dick? How could you not know how much you mean to me? How could you not know how much I need you? How could you not know how important you truly are? How can you think so little of yourself? I wish you could see yourself the way I see you, Dick. I really, really do. You're so smart and talented and fun and spirited and inspiring and generous and thoughtful and kind and understanding and funny and helpful and optimistic and brilliant and loving and hopeful and strong and determined and willing and bright and friendly and welcoming and special and trusting and forgiving and honest and selfless and out-going and good-natured and joyful and a delight and young and energetic and you worry too much and you're just so wonderful, Dick. I wish you could see that about you. Please, Dick, _try_ to know how important you are. Because you are. And I don't know what I'd do if I ever lost you. You and Alfred and Tim are my whole world. Forget about Batman! All Batman's ever done is push away the people who have tried to help him or get close. I don't want to do that anymore. I don't want to lose you. I know I don't deserve you, I never did. But you don't deserve to die, Dick. And I swear I'm not going to rest until you finally understand that. Until you understand that no matter how old you get or how much you'll no longer need me, I will _always_ need you. Because…because…because a father needs his son. And I need you, Dick. Don't you see this? I need you because I'm your father. And you will always be **_my son_**."

Bruce finally stopped trying to talk, what needed to be said now said, and just let the tears pour out. He gave weak, breathy sobs and let one knee fall to the ground. His head was bowed and he let all his feelings out. After a few seconds, Bruce felt Dick's presence in front of him. He kept his head down and expected Dick to yell at him again about how he wasn't his son and how he'd be better off dead. But Dick did not do that. What he did do instead surprised Bruce.

"Oh, Daddy!" Dick, who had apparently been crying also, dropped down and embraced Bruce in a hug. A type of hug that he hadn't given since he was a child. He held on tight cried away in his father's arms. Arms so tight, that never wanted to let go. Which was good because neither of them wanted to. So the two men sat there in the middle of the forest, crying and hugging and just feeling the love.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE (of course): Okay, so this chapter did not go quite as I planned (I planned this chapter when I was on the first chapter of the story, so things sort of changed in the few months and I forgot how I was going to set up the flow) and once I got started on Bruce's really big emotional speech, it kind of got out of hand. The NEXT chapter is going to have Dick's speaking part about a few things that have been said through this story and "Why I'm Still Here". That was ORIGINALLY going to be for this chapter, but the conversation didn't go right and it ended up with Bruce explaining himself. Then I thought about adding it onto this chapter, but the transition doesn't seem right and why ruin such a lovely ending for a chapter? I was going to bring the robin back in this chapter also, but it'll be in the next chapter which I guess will have to be named "**_Faith_…and a **Robin**… (cont.)**"** **or something like that. (Is anyone still reading this?) I'm sorry it took so long for this chapter (no, I don't get Writer's Block, I just procrastinate a lot). When I was browsing Nightwing stories, I saw mine and I realized that I had not updated it in almost ****HALF**** a ****_YEAR_****. I feel so bad. Sorry. I was planning on just 10 chapters, but due to me screwing up this one, there might just be 11. But don't count on it. I apologize for all of the really, really long paragraphs in this chapter. Question: Am I the only one who found that conversation Dick had with Bruce ("I…saw the sun." "…okay..." etc…) pretty funny? Authors can laugh at their own material, too, can't they? Where it said Dick made a sound that would be the trademark of a future Robin, meant he made the "tt" sound Damian usually makes. Also, there have been a lot of errors in this story, but it's too late for me to change them because Fanfiction only gives you 60 days to change something and a lot of my changes did not even show up. Oh, and guys, can you remember that this is only my SECOND Fanfic that I'm still in school? I'm just mentioning this so you won't expect so much. And I PROMISE that the next chapter will ****_not_**** take 6 months. Thank you to all my readers who still held on! And to those of you who have reviewed any story in this series, you will be mentioned, by username, as a show of gratitude. A plus tard! (That was French). BTW, reviews actually ****_pressure_**** me OUT of procrastination. So just keep that in mind, please.**

**I had to "Copy-N-Paste" this chapter because for some reason, it won't upload on Fanfiction. So I don't know how this'll look.**


	10. Faith and a Robin (Part II)

**AUTHOR'S NOTE: ****This is the SECOND-TO-LAST chapter in this story. There's a correction I must make from the last chapter: In Bruce's speech, he said "The world would be taken over by *Doomsday* or someone." I ****_meant_**** to say *Darkseid*. Also, I HAVE to apologize for the last two stories I've done. They weren't very good because I'd written them at the last moment ('tis the way of a procrastinator). This chapter was ****_MEANT_**** to be uploaded on February, 19****th****, 2013, in honor of my one-year-anniversary as a member on this site. But due to unfortunate circumstances, that had to be postponed. Anyway, thanks to all of you who have held on since then.**

**Warnings:**** A small bit of language. Also this chapter is the longest chapter with a word count of about 5,600 words (not including the A/Ns) and is the fluffiest and most personal.**

Chapter 10: _Faith_…and a **Robin**... (Part II)

A gentle breeze played with Dick's over-grown bangs. It seemed like he and Bruce had been hugging for hours. It felt good. Bruce had his hand buried in his son's hair as he held Dick's head closer to him. Dick's neck had a slight crick in it from being in such a position against Bruce's chest for so long, but he didn't care. It just felt so good to have Bruce hold him like this. Dick gave a soft sigh of peace and dug his head deeper into Bruce's chest, pulling the older man back to the present. He placed his hands on Dick's shoulders slowly pulled out of his grasp. Dick gave him a saddened look and Bruce half-expected an "aww" from him. Bruce smirked.

"You didn't think we'd keep hugging for eternity, did you?"

"No…Just a few hours…maybe."

Bruce pushed away the bangs hanging in Dick's face, knowing they'll only come back. "Listen, Dick." Bruce laid a strong hand in the spot just between the younger man's shoulder and neck. "I want you to know that everything—_everything_—that I've said today was the truth."

Dick gave the tiniest smile the world had ever seen, but Bruce could guess that it was there. "I know."

Bruce gave a slight sigh and pulled Dick towards him again to make his son—and _himself_—a bit happier. With the side of his head resting against the side of Dick's, Bruce said, "I'm not good with showing emotion, as you already know. It's something that's hard for me to do, and, to be honest, it…scares me sometimes. But, Dick, you've scared me more in just two days alone than _emotion_ ever could. And that's because I just don't know what I'd do if I lost you and it was my fault. I need you, Dick, a _hell_ of a lot more than you'll _ever_ need me. And I'm sorry that I don't tell you that as much as I should. Dick…I really do love you."

"I love you, too, Bruce."

The two embraced each other again, not as much as before, but still lovingly. "You shouldn't." It was said in a low whisper and more to himself. Dick was going to say something about how that isn't true, but decided against it. For now, anyway. Dick drove his head into the crick of Bruce's neck. The older man smelled strongly of sweat, but it didn't matter.

"Hey, Bruce?"

"Hm?"

"What the hell happened to your clothes?"

"…Well… Hm. It's a long story." Dick gave Bruce a look that said "I've got time. You?" and Bruce couldn't help but smirk again. "Or maybe it isn't that long. See, before I'd gotten here, I had a few…complications."

"Such as?" Bruce could already tell that Dick was going to enjoy this.

"Do you know of the thick branches back there that block the path?" Bruce jerked his thumb in the direction from which he came.

"Yeeesss." Dick gave a small, mischievous grin. He could already tell that he was going to enjoy this.

"See…and I know I'm _stupid_ for this…I…kind of…tried to…" Bruce slid his hand through the air and Dick's face lit up. "…go through them…" Dick stared at Bruce for a moment in disbelief and then burst into a fit of laughter. Bruce sighed.

"Uh-hunh huck-huck ha-ha hoo waahaha uhhh hen-ha! (**A/N: Yes, I know I suck at writing laughter)** Oh, Bruce! Ohhh, I…heh-heh ha ahhh. I'm sorry, Bruce. Just—heh-heh—why?"

"Well, I _did_ have to find you."

"Well, _yeah_, but…I mean it's one thing if _I_ went through there, but you're, like, twice my size."

"So I've noticed."

"Why didn't you just go through the hole that was only a few feet away?"

"I didn't _see_ the hole until I was already on the other side and half-**naked**." Dick giggled. "You just think it's _so_ hilarious, don't you?"

"Well, it serves you right."

"For what? Trying to find my _son_?"

"For taking so long in doing so."

"Hmph, _excuse me_, but you didn't _want_ to be found, remember?"

Dick looked up at Bruce with deep, blue eyes. "I never said that."

"Then what about when you told me to leave you alone?"

Dick shifted to where his back leaned against Bruce's broad chest. "I'm really messed up these days, Bruce."

Bruce placed his hands on either of Dick's shoulders and said into his ear, "No, Dick. You're not. You're just confused. You're dealing with a lot all at one time."

Dick nodded, then quickly shook his head. "No, I really am messed up. I have this really odd intention right now. You know what it is? I have this intention to _eat Super Glue_. **Super glue, Bruce**. Something I hadn't even done in _first grade_."

"You didn't go to the first grade."

"Beside the point."

"You're probably just hungry. After all, you haven't eaten in at _least_ two days."

Dick shrugged. "Maybe. But it's still odd—even for _me_."

Bruce sighed and placed his chin atop Dick's head. For the next several minutes, the two were silent and still apart from the occasional shifting in place. Bruce was simply thankful that his son was unharmed and that things were better between the two of them. Dick, on the other hand, had begun thinking about his parents and about the past few weeks. After a while, it came to Bruce's attention that Dick hadn't moved nor made a sound for longer than he would have liked. He looked down and noticed that Dick's face was blank—almost as if no one was home. Bruce shook him lightly.

"Hey. Dick?"

"…Hm? Oh, uh…"

"Are you all right?"

"Um…yeah. Yeah, I'm…all right." Bruce turned Dick so that the younger man was facing him. He tilted Dick's head so that their eyes would meet. "It's just that…" Dick looked away—or _tried_ to, rather.

"What is it, Dick? You can tell me."

Dick sighed. "I don't know. It's just strange to look back on your life and see that it isn't anything like you'd thought it would be, y'know?"

"Well, things change as time progresses. Events can happen that alter our futures and even our_selves_. We can't keep these things from happening to us, no matter how hard we'd like to try. It's the way of life, Dick."

"Yeah. But don't you ever think about how nice it would be if you could keep the promises you've made? If you could make proud the people that mattered the most to you?"

"What do you mean, Dick?"

Dick sighed again and lowered his eyes—though Bruce still held his head in place. "My parents would be ashamed of me."

"What? No, they wouldn't, Dick. They'd be proud of you."

"It's just…I… Ever since I was little, my dad had taught me that nothing in life came easy. That you had to **fight** in everything you do. _Everything_. And that life's ultimate purpose was to test you. Test your strength. Your ability. Your will. And no matter how you were tested, you _always_ had to come out on top. _That's _how you stay alive in this world. You can't give up or else life will tear you apart. You always have to stay strong. Things will always be hard because there will always be another test waiting for you. The only way you can cheat these tests—the only way you can take the easy way out on _life_, is to end it. And anyone who is going to cheat a test never should have been offered it from the beginning. And anyone who is not willing to fight for their life does not deserve to have one. That's _exactly_ what I've done, Bruce. I've been trying to take the _easy way_ out of life when in truth, it's the _only_ way out. Life happens. Tests will come. But you can't give up just because you don't know an answer. My father wanted me to be strong. He embedded into me that everything that's given to me needs to be _earned_. Including life. And in one foul swoop, I'm ready to throw it all away. My father would be disappointed." Dick hung his head in shame and closed his eyes tightly.

"You're wrong, Dick. There is no possible way that either of your parents could _ever_ be disappointed with the man you've become." Bruce wrapped his arms around Dick's middle—a trick that he knew would force Dick to look at him. "You've achieved so much, Little Bird. Your parents would be proud of you. Like I am."

Dick gave Bruce a small, sad smile. "If only I could be positive of that, Bruce." Bruce stroked Dick's hair in the way an elderly man would pet an animal. When the thought of this occurred to Dick, he was insulted for just the briefest moment. Then he realized that he somewhat enjoyed the sensation. After all, he did—according to Bruce—act like a primate sometimes.

The two were silent for a few moments: Dick loosing himself in the petting and Bruce wishing his son could see what he saw in the young acrobat. Finally, without thinking, Bruce spoke. "You're not worthless, Dick. No matter how much you may think so." His voice was calm and gentle, but also far away as if wasn't in control of what he was saying. It caught Dick's easily-lost attention rather quickly. "To me…and to your parents…you mean the whole world, Dick. You _are_ our world. You're the very thing that keeps us hanging on. That keeps us here long after we've gone. You make things brighter just by being in its presence. You are the very definition of 'love', Dick. And you teach it to everyone you meet. You teach them that it's okay to live again. And that you can't take the easy way out, even if things look impossible. Because you also teach that **nothing** is _im_possible, even if it is _not_ possible. And you know what, Dick? Fifteen years ago I would have thought that that didn't make _any_ sense at all. But you teach people that things don't always have to make sense to be true. Love is illogical and indefinable. But I now know that logic _itself_ is illogical. And that not everything that exists is in the dictionary. And not everything in the dictionary is true.  
>"Your parents would have been—<strong>are<strong>—proud to call you their son. You're not weak, Dick. You are amongst the strongest people I've ever known. If you were weak, you would not be here right now. In fact, if you were _weak_, you wouldn't give a damn about what your parents or anyone else think of you. But you are _not_ weak, Dick. And you're not taking the _easy way_. There is _nothing_ easy about leaving the people you love behind. There's nothing easy about making the decision between living a life of suffering, and not dying in peace, knowing what you're leaving behind. The options alone are enough to drive one into instability, and even _mad_. You've earned this life more times than I can say. You _are strong_; that's why you're still here."

Dick looked Bruce in the eye with a straight face. "You wanna know _just why_ I'm still here, Bruce?" Bruce gave a short, _almost_ unnoticeable nod. Dick sighed. "I'm here because I have to be." Dick looked at Bruce with a serious look on his face. Bruce couldn't tell if it was determination or _drive_.

"What do you mean by that?"

"I have more than just _my own_ life to fight for, Bruce. Just as you do. I have people—my friends, my family—to still hold on to. You, Alfred, Tim, Roy, Wally, Babs—I'm fighting for all of you. Fighting to stay strong. Fighting life—_and _death. If I give up the fight, I give up on more than just _myself_. I give up on all of you."

Bruce placed a hand on Dick's right shoulder. He was a lot tenser than he had been a few minutes ago. Bruce was about to say, "You're not giving up on us, Dick" when Dick started talking again.

"…And I have a promise to fulfill. One that I made _years_ ago, just like you did. I promised my parents that I would avenge their deaths and work to prevent crime. I promised my mother that I'd help make the world a better place, just as she was always saying I one day would. I promised my father that I'd say strong and wouldn't give up just because things got _difficult_. …And I promised you…that I'd never break a promise that meant something to me. And you said that a promise should always mean as much to you as the person you made it to does."

"I should really learn to follow my own advice." It was muttered, yet Dick heard it as clear as a horn. But he chose to ignore it.

"I've made promises that I _do_ intend to keep. And I have people who depend on me, Bruce. I _refuse_ to let them down. And I promised that I'd protect Blüdhaven. Gotham, too, a while ago. And you probably don't remember, but I promised you that I'd always be there for you, even if I'm not _there_."

Bruce pulled back a few locks of hair behind Dick's ear, once again knowing that they'll just go back to their place in front of Dick's face. He whispered in the ear that already had hair slipping back over it. "Had it ever occurred to you that you might make too many promises, Dick?"

Dick gave a humorless chuckle and leaned back against Bruce, the back of his head to Bruce's neck. "Maybe, Bruce. Maybe."

The two were silent again. There was something about this particular silence that for some reason caused Bruce's heart to slowly break. Just ten minutes ago, it seemed like the past few weeks had never even happened. Dick was smiling and talking freely again. The two were holding each other in a way that was all too rare between them. It was a nice, peaceful time between them. Now, Dick was depressed again. Sure, he was actually _talking_ to Bruce, but that didn't keep Bruce's heart from aching. It was always _ironic_ when silence was _un_settling to Bruce. Just as it was ironic when Dick _didn't_ want to talk. It was at these moments that something was bound to happen. May it be good, bad, or just plain _needed,_ could never be predicted. Bruce despised the unpredictable.

"I don't think I've been _completely _honest with you, Bruce." The sound of Dick's voice was unexpected; it came with no warning or signaling. It was enough to pull Bruce out of his not-so-distant thoughts and gain his attention. "And…I'm sorry."

"What are you talking about?"

"In the heat of all that's happened since…_wow_, heh, can you believe you came over only _yesterday_? The anger I held at you caused me to say some things that weren't _entirely_ true. You see, you're not the _only _reason I…you know."

"I'm not?"

"No. I mean, you _are _large part of the reason—err—_were_. But there _is_ more to it. And I'm sorry I made it seem like it was all _your_ fault."

"Only most of it." It was said entirely to Bruce, himself, so Dick didn't comment. Though the remark **did** still make him feel incredibly _guilty_.

"There were other things that contributed to it all, too. When I was younger, it was my parents' deaths added to…um…" Dick waved his hand in an awkward way.

"…My neglect."

"…Uh…yeah…added to that, I didn't really feel like anyone loved me, you know? And…I kinda just blamed _myself_ for it for a while. It didn't take _long_ for that _blame_ to turn into _hatred_. And all of that…hurt." Bruce held Dick tighter and Dick took hold of Bruce's arm.  
>"When I started…hurting myself…it was by complete accident. I'd scratched my leg and later accidently pulled off a scab that wasn't done healing. It was just one those that you get if you'd gotten cut by something small or if you scratch too hard. At first it hurt, but then I noticed the small bit of blood coming out. I watched it roll out like it was melting chocolate. Then all of a sudden, it didn't hurt. It felt…kind of <em>good<em>, actually. I felt my heart racing and I wondered… I put my finger onto where the scab had been removed and pressed down and twisted. It's like the pain never even came; just…pleasure, I suppose. I gasped and couldn't control myself. I started to dig my nails into my skin. I felt tears rolling down my face, but none of it ever hurt. The next thing I knew, it was half an hour later, my face was soaked, my heart was racing as if I'd just run a marathon, and my leg and hand were covered in blood. For a while I was confused…and _afraid_. I'd never done anything like that to myself before and I didn't know what would happen next. I just wanted to forget about it all.  
>"Then three weeks later, I was upset about…God, I don't even remember what. It was something small, but it got me so frustrated and unnerved. My heart was aching, my head was throbbing, and I just felt like crying. Then I was shaking and digging my nails into my upper arm. I never <em>thought<em> of doing it; it just happened on its own. I started crying and then my heart and head didn't ache so much anymore. By the time I'd calmed down, I realized that was in the corner of my room in a ball, shaking like a wet dog. For days I wanted to tell you—wanted to find out what was _wrong_ with me. But I just…couldn't. I tried to stop, but instead, it only _increased_. I was terrified for a long time and then I just came to see it as…I don't know…help, I guess. Like…medication for a symptom or disease. It just was so tempting. I thought it felt good. I thought that it helped." Dick sighed and clutched his own arm as he thought back to his childhood.  
>"I guess hurting myself on the outside made the pain on the inside decrease. Physical pain is <em>always<em> easier than emotional pain. And I guess it was sort of…I don't know…_payback_, I think…to myself. You know how when you…hate someone…a lot, and you just want to cause them pain? Well, it was kind of like that for me. Hurting myself was revenge to…um…myself. …This is getting kinda awkward…"

Dick shifted in his place and Bruce nodded slightly in understanding. It was quiet for a minute or two. Dick kept shifting and Bruce just couldn't figure out _why_. Then it donned on him that Dick needed him to say something to ease his awkwardness, to use Dick's word.

"Oh, um…uhh…" Bruce could sense Dick biting his lip. He wondered if he'd started that habit as a way of hurting himself when around others without anyone thinking that he was _actually_ trying to hurt himself. He shook his head, trying to convince himself that Dick is better than that. _There are plenty of people who have the habit of biting their lip. In fact, Barbara does it and she's never had a suicidal thought in her life! At least…I don't _think _she has._

"…Um…"

Bruce realized that he _still_ hadn't said anything to Dick and mentally slapped himself for it. "Listen…um…" He sighed and searched his brain for _something_ to say. When he came up short, Bruce just decided to go along with doing what he's been doing these past few days—talking as it came to him. "It's all right to feel a little awkward talking about this sort of thing. …But it's good that you are. It's good that you're talking to me at all, for that matter."

"'Cause you like it, right?"

"More than I'd like to admit." Bruce sighed again and placed his hand on the arm Dick had been clutching. "It's good you're talking. It…helps to talk, sometimes."

"Yeah, I guess. Looks like I'll be getting a therapist after all."

"…Listen…I've, um…been thinking."

"'Bout what?"

"About how I've been trying so hard to get you to talk to me about what's been going and how I've been coaxing you to see a professional."

"What about it? You're just worried, is all."

"Yes, I am. But I've realized that it isn't fair for me to be pushing you like I have been."

"I'm not sure I catch your drift here, Bruce."

"…I keep telling you that you should see someone to help you with your problems. But, as I'm sure you're _more_ than aware of, I have issues, too. They may not involve _hurting_ myself, but they're still _issues_. And it's not right for me to tell you to see a therapist even though I won't. And I have just as many, if not _more_, problems as you do. So if I am not going to see someone, you should not have to, either."

Dick was silent for a moment, and then gave a small chuckle. "Yeah, you _do_ have a lot of issues, Bruce."

"Mm-hm."

"Nice to know we're **both** crazy."

"Dick, you shouldn't think of yourself like th—"

"Bruce, Bruce, relax. I was just kidding. You're _not_ psychotic…yet."

"That's comforting."

Dick chuckled again. "Anyway…thanks. For not forcing me to see someone. But…I feel that I still should, even though I'd rather chew broken glass. It just…seems appropriate, you know? Err…I guess you _wouldn't_ really know."

"Somewhat so, somewhat not."

"Hm. Do you think this is more of an emotional problem, or mental?"

"…Both, to be honest. Why?"

"I was hoping it'd be more mental. That way I could pass with a psychiatrist, rather than a therapist."

"Why's that?"

"I'd prefer to have someone tell me I'm crazy than have someone go through every emotionally painful thing that's happened to me."

"Dick. Therapist and psychiatrists do _both_. I mean, not that you _have_ to be insane."

"Great. So either way, I'm still going to have to talk about my…" Dick winced. "…feel-leen-ggsss…"

Bruce smirked slightly. "You get that from me"

Dick was still for a moment and Bruce worried if he went a bit too far with the "_my_ _son_" concept. Suddenly Dick burst into a fit of laughter and Bruce himself couldn't help the slightest of smirks. "Yeah. I guess I do, huh? I've actually gotten quite a few things from you."

"As well I you."

"Yeah… I'm sorry I said that you didn't understand me. I was wrong."

"No, Dick. You weren't wrong." Bruce sighed and tried to straighten up some of his clothing. Tried. "I understand some things while others I do not. I understand how painful things have been throughout your life. From your parents' deaths to watching close friends die to feeling more like the _villain_ than the hero. But I _don't_ understand just _how much_ pain it causes you. Maybe somewhere deep down inside of me I do. But as far as surface knowledge goes, I can't relate."

Dick was looking at Bruce. Not quite staring but more than glancing. He had a look on his face that Bruce couldn't quite read. It seemed so empty, blank. It resembled a look one might have when encountering a foreigner who is asking for directions in another language. There was no surprise in the look and no disappointment either. It wasn't quite a straight face yet it was nearly clear of emotion. Almost as if Dick had space-out and was on auto-pilot. Bruce studied the face for a moment before continuing. "As you know, my parents' murder caused me to seek vengeance. I traveled the globe seeking knowledge and improvement in my skills. I worked to become a better fighter, to become a better detective, and to become fearless. To become a man of logic and reason, rather than one of emotions and…faith. Because I've trained to become the man I am today, to become Gotham's _protector_, I now ignore pain. I bury it inside of me and let myself forget that it is there. And over the years I've forgotten just how_ painful _some things can truly be. I've pressured you to lead onward, despite pain. I figured that you could handle it because you were strong. But I was wrong. Being strong does not mean being fearless or constantly pushing passed the pain. To be strong is to _face_ the pain, not ignore it. I'm sorry I misguided you on that. I was so focused on being what The Batman needed to be that I failed to realize how much pain you were in. And I failed to realize how much I was contributing to that pain. I'm sorry, Dick. It was never my _intention_ to hurt you. I just wish I _could _understand you the way you need me to." Bruce hung his head Dick's shoulder and Dick placed a hand on the top of it where you could barely make out a bald-spot.

"It's okay, Bruce. I get it now. I thought I did when I was younger, but later in life I realize that I'd just been making excuses for you. I became tired of making excuses. It wasn't until these last few years with everything that's happened to me—Blockbuster, Tarantula, Babs, Tad, Jason, and everything else—that I came to truly understand it. Not just lie to myself and _think_ I understood, like I'd always done. But actually understand why you're such a hardass all the time. I mean, don't get wrong, I still hated the way you treated me like garbage, but I understood. And now I understand more than ever. I understand that you don't _mean_ to be such a bastard. It's just that you're too afraid. I understand that now, and I can say so without lying. I know you've always loved me unconditionally. Even when I said I hated you and that I wished you'd never taken me in. None of that was true, Bruce. I could _never _hate you. I was just so angry because I didn't know why you didn't love me as much as I do you. But I get it now. You love me more than I could ever know. Before today, I don't think I could have ever apologized for not believing that you cared. And it is today that I can finally say the words I thought I'd never give you the satisfaction of hearing from me… I…forgive you, Bruce. I forgive you."

"Dick, you don't have to—"

"I want to forgive you, Bruce. I'm tired of holding on to all of the wrongs you've made toward me. I'm tired of keeping this grudge. I just want to be free, Bruce. Free from all the pain that you've caused me. That I've cause _myself_. I just want to let go of it all and have a better life."

"Really?" Bruce questioned in a tone that said "you don't say".

"Mm." Dick said, giving a short nod.

"Just _yesterday_, you told me that you weren't sure if you could ever have a better life or if you even cared anymore. Now today, you're telling me that that is all you want. A better life."

"A lot's happened since yesterday."

"Yes, it has."

"It's just…being with you has made me realize so many things about not only myself, but also about you. Bruce, to be honest, you are the one who gave me hope. You're the one who made me believe that I could get better. That I didn't have to be in so much pain anymore and that things could change for the _better_. You've always been there for me, Bruce, to pick me up when I fell. Just like my father was. And now you've both taught me how to pick myself up. Not just up on my knees, but on my feet, walking again. Running again. …Doing quadruple _flips_ again." Bruce's lips tugged softly at the edges. "I've been down for a long time, Bruce. I thought I'd picked myself up, but I was only a quarter of the way there. Now it's time that I'd risen. Risen from the pain. Risen from the self-doubt. Risen from the despair and hopelessness. It's time for me to get back on my feet again, Bruce. It's time I run again. It's…time for me to rise up and take a stance in my life. Because it's a life I _do_ want. And I _am _going to fight for it. I _am _going to pass this test." Dick looked up to the sky. "That's a promise."

Bruce sat there, watching his son make silent promises to his parents. Even if he wanted to say something at the time, the moment just didn't seem right. So he just sat there quietly, mind blank and lost. It was only a few seconds later that a fluttering shadow from above had caught the two's attentions. They looked up to a lovely sight among the trees.

"Hm. Would you look at that, eh?" Dick said, staring in awe.

"It's…a _robin_." (Leave it to Bruce to state the obvious.)

"Yeah…it is. I wonder what it's doing."

"It's almost as if it's…_watching_ us."

"Hey, what's a robin doing _here_, anyway? It's _fall_ in Gotham _City_."

"I…don't know."

"Maybe it's lost. All robins are lost at one point or another."

"I suppose. It keeps circling us. Like a vulture. How disturbing." Dick looked at Bruce who just shrugged his shoulders. "I guess 'unsettling' would be better." The robin circled the two one more time before landing on a tree branch about 18 feet up from where Bruce and Dick were. "…It's…just…_staring_. Staring at _me_."

"Yeah, I guess it is. Maybe it likes you."

"Yes, because all little birdies are just _so_ fond of the _Batman_," Bruce said sarcastically.

"It may take them a little while, but eventually, they all do come around. And then the Batman's not so…batty anymore. He's more of a man. You know, thanks to his 'little birdies'."

For several moments, Bruce stared at the robin, which stared back at him. They both were unmoving, silent. After a while, Dick looked back to witness the staring competition in place.

"Hey, Bruce? Bruce?" Dick poked Bruce's chest lightly. "Um, Bruce?"

Bruce's head abruptly came to face Dick. "Hm?" He looked around almost as if confused.

"Are you okay?"

Bruce looked at Dick for a moment before returning his attention back to the bird. "It's my robin." It was said quietly and in a voice one would have when gazing upon something truly astonishing.

"Um…what?"

"It's my robin. It's been here, watching over me. It's been _protecting_ me. Like all little birdies do. It's my robin. It's here for me. It's like a sacred spirit. Watching. Protecting. Robin."

Although Dick had no idea what Bruce was talking about, he let his mentor continue on about the bird. While listening, Dick realized how much of a poet Bruce was. Maybe Dick could convince Bruce into letting that be a new hobby of his. After two or three more minutes, Bruce finally stopped talking. He continued to stare at the bird, and eventually, Dick started staring at it, too.

Bruce's thoughts wandered off to all his "little birdies", from Dick to Tim. He acknowledge how truly grateful he was for each of them. And he just hoped that one day, all his boys would get along and they could all be one family in more than just name. Dick's thoughts were of his days as Robin. From Flying Grayson to devoted crime fighter. He thought about his parents and then about Bruce. He thought about his role in each life as their Robin. And then he thought about Robin's death, which only lead to the rebirth. Jason. Tim. For dick, it was safe to say that there would always be a Robin. Even long after he's gone.

After about 15 minutes of thought and staring, a loud noise arose. _Rrrrraarrrrggggrrrrrrmmmrrr._

Bruce looked around, bewildered. "What the hell was _that_?" He looked down to see Dick blushing slightly and chuckling nervously.

"Heh, heh. Sorry, I guess that was me. Heh." Dick rubbed the back of his neck in embarrassment.

"See, I told you you were hungry."

"Yeah, heh." Another growl erupted from the acrobat's stomach. This time it was much louder and sounded almost as if it were being tortured. "You know, it's funny. I haven't eaten in three days and this is the first time during which that I actually _feel _hungry."

"Then I suggest," Bruce said slowly sliding to his feet. "That we get you something to eat so won't be _starving_ yourself anymore."

"Yeah." Dick stood up and brushed off the back of his pants.

"And hopefully you can eat something other than _Super_ Glue." Dick laughed softly and walked over to Bruce who put an arm around his sin's shoulders. "Come on, Slick." Dick grinned at hearing his old nickname. As the two walked back to the Manor, Bruce looked back to the Robin who was still watching. "It's okay now," Bruce whispered to the bird. "I have my robin back."

"What was that, Bruce?"

"Nothing, Dick." Bruce softly kissed Dick forehead and the two talked as they walked slowly out of the forest.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE:**** Sorry this chapter took so long, but at least it didn't take 6 months. The last chapter to this story should be finished before July. But I might have some more computer issues (and by "might" I mean "most definitely will"). After the next chapter, I will begin on the 3****rd**** story in the ****_My Son_**** series ****Flashing Back and Back****. Also, be sure to check out my profile once a week for updates on things. Again, sorry for the crummy quality work put in to ****I Had a Little Batman**** and ****Bros for One New Year's Eve****. Uh…I had more to say, but I forgot. Anyway, thanks for waiting!**


	11. My Son

**A/N:**** Okay, I lied. THIS is actually the SECOND-to-last chapter. I realized that forgot to include something in the last chapter months after I had already posted it. So, that small (but still important) bit had to become its own chapter. So to all of you who were a bit sad to see the end of this story, here you go. TWO more chapters to end ****_My Son_**** of the "My Son" series. Enjoy.**

MY SON Chapter 11: My Son

"Yeah, I saw Jason, like, two months ago."

"Really?"

"Uh-huh. 'Cept it was during the _day_, so I don't think he was really _up_ to anything."

"What was he do-" Bruce's foot made contact with a stone half-buried in the ground, causing him to nearly trip. "-ing?"

"Heh. And you used to tell _me_ to pick my feet up. Anyway, he wasn't doing much. See, I was on my way back from a book sell. It was only a few blocks away, so I decided to just walk there. I was passing this little café behind my building, and there he was, leaning against the side. I walked over to him, and he seemed like he didn't want to be disturbed. And I didn't want to cause a scene or anything, so I just trusted that he was up to no bad and left him there. It looked like he was waiting for someone. If you ask me, I think he was on a _date_."

"A date?"

"Yup," the young man smirked at the thought of his aggressive, hoodlum brother drinking coffee with a girl. "My only question is 'why _Blüdhaven_'?"

"Honestly, Dick?"

"What?"

"Out of _everything_ you just told me, _that_ is your _only _question?"

Dick shrugged. "Well, if it was here, and he turned out to be dating some super-powered alien girl who plans on turning the city into her mutant babies' playground, you'd be asking 'why _Gotham_'?"

Bruce chuckled inwardly. "We really need to do something about that imagination of yours."

"Hey, at least I'm not having those weird _visions_ anymore. They were like day-dreamt _nightmares_."

"And to get them to _stop_, it only took—" Bruce paused as his shirt pocket began to vibrate. He took out his phone and checked the caller ID. "Just a moment," he told Dick while holding up his index finger. Dick leaned against a nearby tree, and occupied himself by poking at a bug bite he'd acquired on his arm.

"Bruce Wayne," the older man said into the cellular device while motioning for Dick to stop playing with the bite. Dick thought that Bruce thought that he was trying to scratch it and was suggesting that the acrobat should pat it instead. Dick shook his head as a way of telling Bruce that he wasn't scratching. Bruce took it as a "no".

"-Wayne? Where the _hell_ are you?-" The voice on the other end of the phone sounded agitated and impatient. Dick continued poking the bite, and Bruce kept swatting, trying to tell him to stop irritating it.

"I'm here at home, Lucius. Is there a problem?" Bruce clasped his hand down, and Dick could see that he was getting a bit annoyed. He rolled his eyes and mouthed a "fine" to Bruce. Pleased that his son finally did as he asked, Bruce turned around to finish his phone conversation.

"-Is there a _problem_? Yes, Wayne, there's a problem! Have you _forgotten_ what today is?-" A loud slapping sound suddenly erupted behind the billionaire. He turned around quickly to see Dick holding his arm, while slightly wincing and somewhat glaring at Bruce. Bruce, realizing what had happened, sighed and ran his hand down his face.

"Today?" Bruce walked over to Dick, and gently set the phone down on a rock after pressing the speaker button. "Today is Saturday, September 24th, if I'm not mistaken." Bruce took Dick's arm, and whispered, "Stop irritating it."

"I'm not. I'm just feeling it," Dick whispered back. He was about to poke the bite again, but Bruce still held his arm.

"-Yes, Mr. Wayne. The day of our meeting with Jeffery Coleguard!-"

Bruce's eyes went wide, and he let go of Dick's arm. Dick, having forgotten about wanting to rub the bug bite, looked confused. Bruce picked up his phone as Mr. Fox continued.

"-This is the most important meeting this company's had since Harold Krose. Mr. Wayne, you know how big Coleguard is for us. We're_ blessed _that we could even get him to attend this meeting! If we lose this case, we lose _thirty_ percent of the company to young, high-strung investors and agents who don't know a _thing_ about business! Wayne. We need you here! If the company's owner isn't present, there is no way in _hell _that we can bargain with Coleguard. The meeting starts in less than ten minutes. **Ten minutes**. Today is _not _the day to play hooky, Mr. Wayne.-"

Bruce swallowed. His mind was racing. How could he forget that such an important meeting was _today_? But so much had been happening with Dick, how could he think about anything _else_? Should he go? Should he leave Dick after they _just_ finished a heart-to-heart talk. What if Dick was still unstable? Even if he was no longer suicidal, that doesn't mean he's stopped _hurting_ himself. What if Bruce leaves and Dick cuts himself too deep? What if he leaves and Dick thinks that everything that just happened between the two of them was all a lie? What if…? But then his father's company was a stake. If Bruce doesn't go, it could mean the end of Wayne Enterprises. So little remains of his father's legacy. How could he be responsible for destroying the Wayne company? How could he be responsible for ruining what's left of his father's good name? How could he be responsible for all of those lost jobs? How could he be responsible for Wayne Enterprises' downfall? But…how could he be responsible for the loss of another son? _We've waited over a YEAR for this opportunity. If I don't go, W.E. will be but a lost memory in HALF that amount of time. Maybe…maybe Dick would understand if I went. It's only a few hours. He could stay here with Alfred and Tim for a few hours, can't he? He can help Tim with his project, and he'd be working so hard, by the time I got back, he never would have noticed how long it's been. Dick's an understanding person. Surely he'll understand this. My father's company is at risk!_

"-Hellooo? **Wayne**? Are you there? Hello? _Mr. Wayne_?-" Bruce snapped out of his thinking and lowered the volume on his phone. He looked at the phone, then over to Dick.

"It's okay, Bruce," Dick said with an obviously fake smile. "You can go. I understand. Wayne E. is at risk. You have to go."

Bruce lifted the phone to his face. "…Lucius…" Just then, Bruce had a flashback of the meeting with Harold Krose he attended when Dick was 12.

"-Mr. Wayne? I'm here. What were you saying?-"

"…I…" Dick's voice from earlier that morning ringed in his head. '_You're always busy, _too_ busy with _something_ to have time for anything else_.' '_It was always either Mr. Wayne or The Bat. Hardly ever just Bruce._' '_I needed a father to be there in order to not hate myself so much!_' '_You'll never understand how much I needed you to be around more._' '_Always busy…hardly ever just Bruce…needed a father…never understand how much I needed you…_too_ busy…I needed you to be around more…busy with _something_ to have time for anything else…to not hate myself so much…always either Mr. Wayne or The Bat…needed you…busy…a father…never understand…not hate myself…you're always busy, _too _busy…needed a father…just Bruce…never understand how much I needed you to be around more…I needed you to be around more…be around more…be around more…be around more…be around more…_'

"-**_WAYNE!_**-"

"Huh?" Bruce shook his head, and found himself back in the forest with his phone in his hand and an annoyed Lucius Fox on the other end.

"-The meeting starts in three minutes, Mr. Wayne. **THREE! MINUTES!** You need to get here, Sir. For the sake of this company, _please_, **hurry up**!-"

Bruce looked at Dick and sighed. "I'm sorry," he whispered. "Mr. Fox? I'm afraid that I won't be attending today's meeting."

Dick's eyes grew wide. "What?" he mouthed to himself.

"-I'm sorry?-"

"You'll just have to go on without me."

"-Wayne! How could you—-"

"I'm deeply sorry, Lucius," Bruce interrupted. "But something more important has come up."

"-And what on _Earth _might that be?-"

"My son, Lucius. My son needs me, and I am _not_ going to leave him."

"—Mr. Wayne—-"

"There's no discussing it. My son needs me. I'm sure my father will understand. Now, if you'll _excuse_ me, Mr. fox, you're cutting into some valuable bonding time."

"-Uh…I…-"

"Goodbye, Mr. Fox." Bruce quickly hung up the phone before Lucius could dare say another word. "Now," he said turning to face Dick, who stood with a look on his face that was halfway between shock and confusion. "Shall we continue?"

"Uh… Wait, hold on a minute. What was that?"

"What was what?" Bruce put his phone away and started walking back to his house again.

"That. The-the thing on the phone. Y'know with you and Mr. Fox and you not going to work. Ringing a bell, here?" Dick walked to the left of Bruce, staring at him all the while.

"What's to explain? You heard everything, if I'm not mistaken."

Dick babbled. "Buttuh-I-uh…I…wha…but-but-but… I don't…really understand, Bruce."

"Really? That _babbling_ could have fooled me." Dick looked at Bruce with an expression that said "Are you _serious_?" Bruce gave Dick a small smile.

"O-kaaay. Looks like a _certain_ creature of the night has been in the _sun _a bit too long, eh? All right, let's get you back inside where you can think more clearly, and then have you call Lucius Fox back."

"Why would I call Fox?"

"To tell him you're coming to that meeting! Bruce, I don't know _what _insect sucked the blood out _your_ brain out here, but I _do_ know that you _have_ to attend that meeting. Bruce, your company's at stake, here! If this meeting is _anything_ like that meeting with Harold _Krose_ twelve years ago, this is big! I mean,_ really_ big! You _cannot_ miss this meeting today, Bruce. You just can't! You… Bruce! Are you even _listening_ to me right now?! This is _critical_! This is top _priority_! This is—"

"Not more important than my _son_," Bruce interrupted. Both men stopped walking, and looked each other in the eye. "Listen, Dick, I appreciate what you're trying to do, but it doesn't matter. The _only_ thing that matters to me as of right now is you. Not the meeting. Not my father's company. Not my job." Bruce placed his hands on Dick's shoulders. "You, Dick. Just you. _You're_ my top priority. All right?" Bruce removed his hands, still looking into Dick's eyes.

"…But… The company…"

"Doesn't matter right now."

"…Bruce, you can't—"

"I can, and I am."

"But—"

"No "but's", Dick. My decision is_ final_. And like I told Fox, there's_ no_ discussing it. Now, come on. We need to get inside before we worry someone." Bruce once again walked in the direction of the manor, Dick trailing a few feet behind.

_He really means it, doesn't he?_ Dick thought. _He's actually going to miss this meeting just to be with _me_. Even though his father's company is on the line, he's still going to stay with me._

The two finally made it out of the Wayne estate's forest into the unnecessarily large meadow that Bruce calls a "yard". Bruce noticed that Dick was falling further and further behind. He paused and waited for Dick to catch up. When he did, Bruce put an arm around the young acrobat before continuing onward. Dick looked at Bruce for a second, and then looked down with sorry eyes.

_He's going to regret this._ Dick thought as he wrapped his arms around his second-father_. I just _know_ he will._

Bruce, almost as if he'd heard Dick's thoughts, said to his first son, "There is no way that I would _ever_ regret my decision, Dick. And even if I do lose the company and my job, during no part of it do I want you to blame yourself for even the _slightest _of moments. Do you understand?" Bruce looked down to Dick who simply nodded his head. Bruce could tell that Dick was still unsure if what the older man had said was the absolute truth, or if it was just said to make him feel better. Even so, Bruce said nothing. He tightened his grip on Dick, and the Romanian did the same. The two walked back to the manor in silence apart from the occasional growling of Dick's tortured stomach.

**AUTHOR'S NOTE****: Sorry it took me longer than I expected to write the end of this story. But if you'll recall from the last chapter, I said it'll be up by July ****IF**** I don't have computer issues before then. And right when I was about to start the 11****th**** chapter, I (of course) had issues. But give me a break, okay? You were expecting the last chapter and I gave you TWO chapters instead, ****AND**** I'm uploading both chapters on the SAME day! That should excuse my late updating, shouldn't it? Anyway, the next chapter isn't going to be fluffy or very emotional, and it'll feel kind of like a cliffhanger. But I've been planning to have that as my last chapter since (what was it?) the FIFTH chapter, MAYBE sooner. So I'm sticking with it. **

**Also, this story will soon be moved to the *BATMAN* section. Just a warning in case you wanted to look for it. I really hate to move it into a different section because there really aren't enough Nightwing stories. But, alas, I realized that I've included more "Batman" characters in this story than "Nightwing" characters, and that Dick Grayson is still a "Batman" character. So wouldn't it make more sense if this story was under the Batman section? I guess I'll just have to write more stories that are solely based around Dick if I want to even out the number of Nightwing stories I have with the number of Batman stories. Sure, that's good for you, but ****_treacherous_**** work on a giant procrastinator such as myself. Anyway, I hope you enjoy the last chapter.**


	12. Alfred, the All-Knowing

**Well, here it is. The final chapter to ****_My Son_**** of the "My Son" series. Seems like just last February that I'd written the first chapter. …Oh, yeah, it ****_was_**** last February. But on a serious note, I appreciate all of you have stuck with this story from the beginning. I know it took an unexpected turn after the seventh chapter, but it means a lot that so many of you still eagerly waited to see what came next. And one thing that I honestly ****_cannot_**** thank you enough for is your patience. I know that ever since the eighth chapter, I've stopped updating regularly. ****I just sort of lost some interest in this story. But then I get a review and I know that I ****_have_**** to finish it for all of you who took the time to read it. ****They let me know that people are still reading my story, and that people are still waiting for the conclusion. Many Thanks.**

********BACKGROUNG INFO****: I guess it's a little late in the story to be telling you this now, but a few people seemed confused, so I'll clear up a few things. 1.) Dick has already been adopted by Bruce in this story. 2.) Dick is 24, Tim is 15. Tim's father has already died and Tim is living with Bruce now. 3.) Babs' and Dick's break-up and the whole thing with Blockbuster occurred in the same year, and Dick had to deal with it all by himself. 4.) Roy's daughter, Lian, is still alive and Roy is still a 'hero'. 5.) This story takes place anywhere between 8 months and maybe a year and a half before Damian Wayne is even known. 6.) Jason has already risen from the dead, so to speak. 7.) Dick was about 9 years of age when Bruce took him in. 8.) Bruce was about 8 or so when his parents died. 9.) I think this story ****_may_**** take place while Stephanie is died, you'll know for sure in the next story. 10.) While I also believe that Dick is Bruce's favorite 'son' (how could he not be?), we all know how unbelievably clueless Dick can be sometimes. In this story, he thought that Bruce liked Jason and Tim better because he thinks so little of himself and so highly of others. 11.) I can't really think of anything else that is important to know for this story. But if you have any questions, just ask me, okay?**

**Enjoy!**

Chapter 12: Alfred, The All-Knowing

"What did I say to you about touching that bite?" The two Waynes had finally made it to the last bit of Wayne Manor's driveway.

"I'm sorry; I can't help it. It's kind of like a scab. You know you shouldn't pick it, but you just _have_ to. As long as I know that this_ gigantic_ bug bite is on my arm, I'm not going to be able to ignore it. I mean, look at this thing. It's the size of an eye!"

Bruce was trying hard to listen to his son's complaints, but he kept getting distracted by his lack of coverage. He just wanted to get inside, put on something casual, sit down for a while, and spend some quality time with Dick. "You're exaggerating. And I'm sure that if you stopped thinking about it, it would be quite easy to ignore it, Dick."

"But, Bruce, it's so distracting. Every time I look at my arm, I see this enormous, red whelp. Then after that, I can't _stop_ looking at it." Bruce picked up his feet even more as grass blades caused his ankles to itch. He looked like he was marching on shifting rocks. "Heh. You know, I'm _sure _that if you stopped _thinking_ about how naked you are, it would be quite _easy_ to _ignore_ it," Dick said, sarcastically.

Bruce rolled his eyes. "The sooner we get in, the better." Bruce looked over to see Dick's nails buried in his arm's flesh. "Are you scratching it?!" He took the arm Dick was using to scratch with and held it.

"No, I was scratching _around_ it." Bruce gave him a look. "But, Bruce, it itches. Badly."

"It would not be itching if a certain hyper-active child listened to me instead of continuing to irritate it."

Dick took back his arm. "Hey, what do you expect? You could out-stubborn a mule, and you get a son just the same."

Bruce smirked as they reached the front porch. "Just stop touching it." Dick nodded as he blew on the bite, trying to get rid of some of the fever. "We'll put an ice cube on it," Bruce offered as he opened the door for his eldest. "Funny how you can get _shot_ in the chest and claim it to be nothing, _begging_ to be put back out on the field, yet you get bitten by a _bug_ and it's the worst thing in the world."

"I'm pretty sure that it was an _insect_ that bit me, Bruce," Dick said as he walked inside.

"Smartass," Bruce whispered, closing the door behind him.

"Hey, it's… Well, I was going to say 'it's in the genes', but I think I was a smartass before I met you. And I don't think my father was..." Bruce locked the door as Dick went through his family tree.

"Come on, old pal. I'd say it's about time we got some food in you."

"I think maybe my grandmother on my moth—did you say '**_food_**'?!" Dick eyes grew wide, mouth agape, and stomach pleading for mercy.

Bruce gave a partial smile as he put an arm around the excited crime-fighter. They walked toward the kitchen, Dick somewhat bouncing all the way.

"Hey, Bruce? I've been meaning to ask," Dick pointed to the hand resting on his shoulder. "What's that?"

"Hm?" The two stopped walking, Dick regretting his question as his stomach continued to suffer. There was a piece of cloth tied around Bruce's hand. "Oh," Bruce untied the cloth, and handed it to Dick. "It's yours."

Dick took the cloth and examined it, confused. After a moment, he gave a full smile. "This is… Where did you find this, Bruce?"

"It was on the roof. I figured that it must belong to you since no one else around here wears your…choice in clothing."

Dick laughed a bit. "I… Yeah, it _was_ mine. Fourteen _years_ ago."

"Pardon?"

"This was part of my favorite pair of pajamas I brought with me to the manor. One night, I was on the roof, and I scratched myself on something. Part of my clothing ripped off and I could never find. Wow, it's really been up there this entire time? After a decade and a half of rain and snow and, you know, that 'quake. Just amazing."

"Yes, it is. …I kept hold of it while I was trying to find you… I suppose it gave me…a sort of…hope." Dick grinned and hugged Bruce.

"Well, then, I need to tie my clothing onto you more often. You could use a bit more hope in your life, Bruce."

"So long as I know you're all right, Dick, I have all the hope I need. And all that my _heart_ can handle." A groggy yell erupted, and Dick, rubbing his stomach, groaned in harmony with it.

"My _stomach_ could use some hope right about now," Dick murmured.

"We're almost at the kitchen, Chum. Think your stomach can hold on until then?" Dick shook his head, and Bruce ruffled his hair. The two continued on their way to the main kitchen, Dick tugging at Bruce's arm to make him walk faster. When they reached the entranceway, they found Alfred putting a tray of freshly-baked fudge brownies on the counter.

Dick lifted his arm, stretching it outward in the direction of the warm goods. "Foooooooooooooood." He looked at Bruce.

"Go get it," the older man said with a wink.

Dick dashed over to the tray like a starved lion, ready to choke down its helpless prey. With arms raised above his head, and mouth opened wide, just when he was about to devour every last bit of chocolaty heaven, Dick caught a somewhat shocked look from Alfred. "…uh…erm…" Sheepishly, he lowered his arms and stood straight. "Uh, Alfie? Um, is it okay if I demolish all of these?"

Alfred, with shock gradually dissolving, looked over to Bruce in search of an explanation for the devastating behavior he'd just been subjected to seeing. Bruce nodded at the elderly man in a way that said "Just let him do it".

Alfred, not wanting to ask questions for fear of the answer, recomposed himself before responding to the desperate child in front of him. "I do hope that the young master's hands have been washed after his adventures in the forest."

Dick looked at Alfred in the sad, almost tearful, way a young boy would look after being told he could not eat dinner until he did his chores. "…uh…" He looked down at the brownies, the lovely scent of added chocolate invading his nostrils. "…Mmm-hm-hm-hm-hm…" He winced, truly looking pained as his stomach's cries filled the room. "…Mmm… Okay, okay, okay." He bit his lip, then bent down, eye-level with the delectable sweets. "I'll be back soon, all right? I promise," he whispered before giving an air-kiss. Hurriedly, he ran—then walked upon seeing the look Alfred was giving him—to the kitchen sink.

"Dare I ask?" The Englishman turned to Bruce, who shrugged in response.

"He's hungry," Bruce stated with a small smile as he watched the raven-haired man scrub his hands clean with dish soap.

"Damn, that's a lot of dirt," Dick mumbled to himself.

"May I remind you, Master Dick, to wash between your fingers as well?"

"Alfie, I'm not a little kid anymore. I'm a grown man. Hey, you remembered to put extra chocolate inside the mix to let it melt, right?"

"Yes, Sir. I'm afraid the treats would be ruined otherwise." The butler said with a smile.

"_Exactly!_" Dick turned off the water, and faced the gentleman. "Now may I please suffocate on fudge brownies?" Dick gave a pleading look as his stomach released another distress signal.

"Why, your hands are covered with water. I must ask that you please dry them first."

Dick looked like he was about to cry. "Alllfreeed. You're killing me-e-e-e-e." An angry roar said, "Just do it, already! I'm **dying** here!" Of course, Dick was the only one who heard it. With an apologetic look, Dick said to his aching stomach, "Okay, okay," before weakly ripping a few paper towels.

Bruce said to Alfred, who seemed a bit worried, "He'll be okay once he eats something." The billionaire reached for a brownie, but then stopped at the sound of a throat clearing. "What is it?" Alfred gave him a look. "I'm just getting this top one." The elderly man's face remained the same. "I'm not even going to touch any of the others… All right, all right, fine." Bruce walked over to the sink and began releasing his hands of nature.

"There," Dick held his now dry hands out for Alfred to examine. Making contact with pleading eyes, Alfred gave Dick a nod, declaring him free to gobble down the chocolate delights. "MMMMMMMMMM," Dick said as he eagerly took his first bite. "OH, ALFRED! What would DO without you?! Mmmph mm-mm." Dick finished the rest of the first brownie, and could immediately feel his strength returning. "Ahhhhh… Sweet justice." He picked up a brownie in each hand, taking a bite out of one and putting the other on a napkin. "Mmmph… Two for little Timmy." He placed another brownie on the napkin. "And…mmmm… You want one, Bruce? 'Cause I can guarantee you that they won't be here later."

"Hmm." Bruce finished drying his hands and examined the half-eaten brownie in Dick's hand. Melted chocolate oozed out over the added chocolate chips on top and onto Dick's fingers. Bruce winced. "I don't know, Dick. It looks like there's a lot of chocolate in it."

Dick ate the other half of the brownie with glee. He hurriedly swallowed—and nearly choked—before responding. "Which is what makes it so _perfect_!"

Bruce looked disgusted as chocolate covered Dick's lips. "…Well…if it makes you happy…" Dick nodded as he scoffed down another brownie. "But don't think that you're just going to eat sweets all day, young man. You are going to eat _real_ food. …And I don't mean Super glue. Do you understand me?" Dick grinned, and looked like a bobble head. Bruce pulled two stools up to the counter and sat next to his former sidekick, watching him clear the tray.

"Master Bruce? Might I ask, what in the good Lord's name happened to your clothing, Sir?"

"Hm?" Bruce looked himself over. "Oh, just…had a few…complications. I'll change in a few minutes." Bruce put a hand on Dick's shoulder, who was swinging his feet like a child.

"Ah," the former spy smiled slightly as he swept brownie crumbs into his hand. "I trust that matters were resolved, then?" Bruce stopped watching Dick, and Dick stopped watching brownies enter his mouth. They both slowly looked at Alfred. After only a moment of studying the loyal servant, they knew what he knew.

_'__Sonova…'_ Bruce thought.

Dick shook his head, lightly chuckling. "Of course, he knows." He raised his hand to Alfred. "He's 'Alfred, the All-Knowing'. He knows _everything_ that goes on!" The Englishman smiled faintly. "Well…not _everything_ was resolved." Dick leaned onto Bruce. "But we're working on it." Once again, Bruce put an arm around the younger man.

"Well, I wish the best of luck to you both." Alfred threw away the crumbs, proud of his "son" for finally telling _his_ "son" how he really felt.

"Thanks, Alf. I really appreciate the support."

"It is no trouble, Sir. Shall I prepare a room?" Alfred went to the refrigerator and pulled out the milk carton.

"Oh, uh—"

"Yes, Alfred, that would be wonderful, since Dick will be staying with us for the next several months." Dick looked at Bruce. "Half a year, at _least_. **_No_** debate." Dick shrugged and picked up another brownie.

"So does that mean I'll be seeing Dr. Q. again?" A glass of cold milk was placed in front of the acrobat. "Thanks, Al."

"Not necessarily. It's your choice."

"I kind of liked D. Q. He was he only therapist I had who didn't make me feel like I needed to be in a mental institution." Dick took a swig of milk. "Mn… So, uhh… What do we tell Tim?"

Bruce sighed, running a hand through his head. "Well… I suppose we can tell him part of the truth. We can just say that you are in a bad position at the time and need to be with family."

Dick held his glass out for Alfred to refill. "And when he starts investigating? I mean, he _is_ a natural detective, Bruce. He's going to figure out _something_."

"When that time comes, we'll just have to hope that he doesn't discover too much."

Dick set his glass down and faced Bruce. "I could…talk to him. Avoid all of the secrets now, and just let him know what's going on."

"…Personally, I don't favor that route. But it's your decision, whether or not you want Tim to know."

"That's all for another day, Bruce." Dick got up and retrieved a second glass from the cabinet. "As of right now," he poured a fair amount of milk into the glass. "You need to get changed." Dick picked up the napkin with the two brownies set on it, and placed in on the tray. "See, here's how the rest of the day's going to happen." With his left hand, he carefully held both glasses. "I'm about to go upstairs and help Timmy with his project. During that time, you, Bruce are going to be thinking of what family-bonding activity—or activit_ies_—we're all going to do, and making the preparations for it." Dick shuffled the tray of brownies into his right hand. "Alfred, if you wouldn't mind, you are going to be the wonderful, ever so thoughtful grandpappy you always are, and are going to cook me food before I eat myself. Then tonight, after whatever fun, _enjoyable_ activity Bruce comes up with, we are all going to sit down and have a big, Thanksgiving-like family dinner. All right? Everyone know their assignments? Good." Dick kissed Alfred on the cheek—taking the English gentleman by complete surprised—and walked over to Bruce to do the same. "And it better go down like that. I mean it. If it doesn't…then I'll cut myself."

Bruce nearly choked on air. "That is _not_ funny, Dick."

"No, but it's a good threat. Nice little way to ensure I get what I want."

"Spoiled brat," Bruce whispered.

"And who's responsible for that, hmm?" Dick picked up a brownie with his teeth and let it slide into his mouth. With a grin and a nod, he left the two older men alone.

Alfred poured Bruce a glass of his special fat-free milk and handed it to the pants-less man. "If I may say so, Sir, Master Dick seems to be becoming more like a younger you as each day goes by."

"He's my son, Alfred," Bruce took a sip of milk. He then gazed over to where the first Robin once stood. He frowned, looking somewhat guilty. "And that's what worries me."

**Not ****_quite_**** how I expected to end the story, but I guess it's fine. Thank you again for taking the time to read my story. I really hope I didn't let anyone down too much. The first chapter to the third story in the "My Son" series is already posted, although I'm afraid that it'll be some time before I get the next chapter up. In the interim, be sure to check out my other stories. I really appreciate the support! This chapter got kind of weird, but I was rather famished when I wrote it and had a taste for brownies. So that showed a bit in the story.**

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